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Edda’s Birthright, 

By Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 

ILLUSTRATED. 






NEW YORK: 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 
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EDDA’S BIRTHRIGHT. 


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EDDA 


Frontispiece 


EDDA’S BIRTH RIGH'I 


21 JToucL 


BY 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis, 

■ L - - ‘ ' .. ' i 

Author of “Her Double Life,’’ “Old Life’s Shadows,” 

“Lady Kildare,” Etc. 


ILL USTRA TED. 



NEW YORK: 





o 


ROBERT BONNE R’S SONS, 

Publishers. 


THE LEDGER LIBRARY : ISSUED SEMI-MONTHuY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, TWELVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. 24, 
NOVEMBER 1, 1890. ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N. Y., POST OFFICE A8 SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER. 






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Copyright, 1873 and 1890, 

By ROBERT BONNER'S SONS. 


( Alt rights reserved.) 















PRESS OF 

THE NEW YORK LEOGEh 
NEW YORK. 


EDDA’S BIRTHRIGHT. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE HEIR’S RETURN. 

Ronald, Earl of Charlewick, had been twice married. 

His first wife had been a high-born Spanish lady, who 
soon after her marriage and establishment in England, 
had developed a character which, for cruelty, unscrup- 
ulousness and utter lack of principle, could scarcely be 
equalled. The discovery of the real nature of the woman 
he had wedded alienated Lord Charlewick’s affection 
from her at an early period ; but he was patient, long- 
suffering, and faithful to the obligations he had taken 
upon himself until she died, which event occurred in the 
third year of their marriage. 

The issue of this unhappy first marriage was a son, 
Lord Odo Charlton, who was born in the hour of his 
mother’s death. 

The Earl of Charlewick married again some two years 
after the death of his Spanish wife. The second Countess 
of Charlewick was a gentle, high-bred English lady of 
noble birth. She lived to grow old, and was the angel 
of his home. She had died a year previous to the open- 
ing date of our story, and her death was the only sorrow 
she had ever caused him. 


10 


THE HEIR’S RETURN. 


The issue of this happy second marriage was also a 
son, Lord Ernest Charlton, the pride of his father’s 
heart. 

The half-brothers, Odo and Ernest, were as different 
from each other as light is different from darkness, or as 
vice is different from virtue. 

Lord Odo, the heir, the elder by three years of his 
brother, inherited the worst qualities of his Spanish 
mother. Like her, he was cruel, remorseless, vindictive, 
with a mean and petty nature, and with a selfishness that 
was absolutely appalling. He early exhibited character- 
istics that made his father tremble for his future. In his 
earliest boyhood he delighted to torture insects. As he 
grew older he extended his brutal experiments to cats, 
dogs and horses, torturing them with unheard-of cruel- 
ties. At twelve years of age he was the terror of every 
child and old woman on the estate. The earl found him- 
self unable to control a being he could not even compre- 
hend, and Lord Odo, while a mere boy, learned to defy 
his father’s authority. 

The young heir of Charlewick made his way through 
schools and colleges, being expelled from some, and 
barely tolerated at others on account of his noble father. 
At the age of twenty, he boldly flung off the last vestige 
of restraint, and went to London, plunging into the 
worst dissipations, bringing scandal upon his honorable 
name, and so outraging his father’s lingering patience 
that Lord Charlewick utterly discarded and disowned 
him, refusing to hold any communication whatsoever 
with him. 

Lord Odo went swiftly from bad to worse. Still keep- 
ing a precarious footing at certain clubs and in society, 
he yet found his chief pleasures among disreputable 
people. He had his mother’s fortune, but that melted 
rapidly when once fully under his control. He had a 


THE HEIR’S RETURN. 


a 


yacht and race horses, was addicted to betting, and lived 
luxuriously in his chambers at the West End. In this 
riotous existence he spent several years, arriving at the 
age of six-and-twenty. 

And then, as the light of a candle is suddenly extin- 
guished, Lord Odo Charlton abruptly and mysteriously 
disappeared in a single night, leaving not one clue to his 
fate. 

Search was made for him. His lodgings at the West 
End showed that he had not meditated absence. His 
dressing-case was open, ready for use. His garments 
lay on the sofas and chairs. He had employed no valet, 
and his movements had been unnoticed. His bank ac- 
counts were examined, and it was found that he had 
been for three months at the end of his mother’s fortune. 
His yacht was mortgaged to its full value, as were his 
horses. Yet it was ascertained that for a week before 
his disappearance he had had plenty of money, and sus- 
picions at once arose that he had been -murdered by 
some of his low associates for that money. 

The mystery of his fate was not solved, however, 
despite the efforts made to that end, and it settled into 
a firm conviction in the minds of all who had known 
him, that he had perished at the hands of an assassin* 

Lord Ernest, therefore, became the recognized heir of 
Charlewick. 

He was as noble as his brother was base. He attained 
high honors at Oxford, and the earl, his father, had great 
hopes of his future career. He married young, a lovely, 
high-born girl, but their wedded life was as brief as it 
was delightful. They perished together some three 
years after their union, and one year after the mysteri- 
ous disappearance of Lord Odo Charlton, in a collision 
of vessels upon the English Channel. The ill-fated pair 
left a son, a boy of a year old, who was staying at the 


12 


THE HEIR ? S RETURN. 


time with his grand-parents at the earl’s ancestral seat 
of Charlewick-le-Grand, in Devonshire, and who thus 
escaped their fate. 

This young son, Lord Ronald Charlton, the grandson 
of the noble earl, thus became the heir apparent of 
Charlewick. 

The earl was one of the richest peers of England, with 
vast estates scattered throughout the United Kingdom, 
and with a rent-roll which yielded him a princely rev- 
enue. He was the noble representative of a noble and 
ancient line ; he was allied to some of the proudest fami- 
lies of the realm ; he had been honored by a high posi- 
tion in the household of his sovereign ; and he had at- 
tained to venerable years, having known the sweetest 
joys this world can give, and having known also, as is 
seen, many of life’s bitterest sorrows. 

And now at last he lay on his death-bed. 

He was at his favorite seat of Charlewick-le-Grand. 
Here he had been born ; here he would die. 

He was in his stately chamber, propped up by huge 
pillows, his thin white face fanned by the soft June 
breezes that came in at the open windows. Around him 
were the choicest luxuries that money could buy, exqui- 
site. productions of industry and art ; but he was look- 
ing beyond them all, out upon the broad fields, the 
grand old park, the garden and terraces, all bathed in 
the glow of the last sunset he was ever to see with mor- 
tal eyes. 

His hours were known to be numbered, but he was 
not yet dying. 

He was not alone. The great London physician, Sir 
Henry Dawlish, had just quitted him, leaving in attend- 
ance upon him his lordship’s grandson, Lord Ronald 
Charlton, and his lordship’s ward, Miss Hellene Clair. 
The young couple were betrothed lovers, and were 


THE HEIR’S RETURN. 


13 


seated near together in the shadow of the curtains at 
the foot of the bed, grave, sorrowful and silent. 

The earl was scarcely conscious of their presence. 

He was thinking ^of the evil-minded son who had 
never caused him a single joy, but had wrung his heart 
with sorrows — of the lost Odo Charlton. 

Twenty years had passed since Lord Odo Charlton 
had disappeared, and in all those years not one ray of 
light had relieved the black mystery enveloping his fate. 

And now, as the dying earl thus lay thinking of his 
first-born, he stirred feebly and uneasily, with a strange 
ghastliness upon his pinched features. 

“ Ronald,” he called, in a startled voice, “ are you 
there ?” 

Lord Ronald Charlton emerged from the shadow at 
the foot of the bed. 

. He was a young man of one-and-twenty years, tall 
and handsome, with a broad chest, elastic movements, 
and an habitual air of command which sat well upon 
him. His brown hair was cut close to his well-shaped 
head ; he had a broad forehead : brown eyes, now full 
of tenderness and sorrow ; a firm, resolute mouth, whose 
habitual expression was grave to sternness, yes strangely 
sweet. His noble face was the index of a noble soul. 

“ I am here, grandfather,” he said gently, a look of 
alarm mantling his features. “ You are not so well. I 
will call the doctor — ” 

“No, no, Ronald,” said the earl, with a groan. “ The 
doctor cannot help me. It is not my body that suffers 
— It is my mind.” 

“ Do you want to see the rector, grandfather ?” 

“ No. I have not waited until this hour to make my 
peace with God, Ronald,” said the earl. “ Is Hellene 
here ?” 

Miss Clair came forward, approaching the bed-side. 


14 


THE HEIR S RETURN. 


She was a slender, golden-haired girl, not yet eighteen 
years of age, dowered with a rare and glorious beauty, 
with a pure Greek face and tender sapphire eyes. She 
was spirited, bright, and sweet, and the old lord loved 
her only less than he loved his grandson. 

“I have something to say to you both, my children,” 
said the earl. “ A mortal terror has seized upon me. It 
is said that the dying see clearly. I feel that my death 
will be the signal for many lurking troubles to hurl 
themselves upon you both. I wish I might have been 
spared yet a while longer. There are terribie perils in 
store for you both ; for Ronald’s troubles will be yours 
also, Hellene.” 

The young couple fancied that the earl’s mind was 
wandering. Miss Hellene knelt down beside the bed, 
and took one of the cold, thin hands of her aged guar- 
dian in her own warm clasp. 

“ My lord, do not excite yourself,” she said, with lov- 
ing tenderness. “ God will watch over us always. Dear 
guardian, all will be well with Ronald and me.” 

The old earl’s features quivered. With his disen- 
gaged hand he stroked the girl’s golden head softly and 
with an exercise of his strong will — strong even now 
when death was so near — he forced himself to reply to 
her calmly : 

“ I shall last some hours yet,” he said, as quietly as if 
he had been speaking of another, “ but I must speak 
while I have strength. When I am gone, Hellene, you 
will probably be summoned to reside with your father. 
He is on the Continent, whither he retired to escape his 
creditors, after your mother’s death. He has given his 
consent to your marriage with my heir, and it is my wish 
that a year hence you two should marry. I wish that 
I might have seen you united before I am called away, 


THE HEIR’S RETURN. 


15 


but my blessing will rest upon your marriage all the 
same.” 

“ My father has never shown a particle of affection for 
me, my lord,” said Miss Hellene. “ My mother, in leav- 
ing me her vast fortune, left me to your guardianship. 
Perhaps my father may never send for me.” 

“ Then you will remain here at Charlewick-le-Grand 
with your governess, and Ronald will spend the year in 
travel, or where he may please,” said the earl. “ Your 
father is poor, however, while you are rich. His estates 
are heavily encumbered with mortgages. He is almost 
certain to reclaim you at my death. But so long as 
Ronald is heir or proprietor of Charlewick, Lord Clair 
* will be his friend. But should anything happen to strip 
Ronald of the earldom and estates, Lord Clair will be- 
come one of his bitterest enemies.” 

The old lord started up on his pillow, with a strange 
strength born of sudden excitement. Miss Hellene was 
alarmed. 

“ What is it, my lord ?” she asked. 

“ I wish I had made a will. I have been blind — fool- 
ish — not to have made a will. Send for my lawyer, 
Ronald. Send this instant. Not a word, not a moment’s 
delay. Send to Crediton. A brief hesitancy may seal 
the future misery of you both. Ring the bell !” 

There was that in the face and tones of the earl that 
repelled all questioning or remonstrance. Lord Ronald 
rang the bell, and a servant who waited without made 
his appearance. 

“ Send a mounted messenger to Crediton on my best 
hunter,” said Lord Charlewick in a thin, keen voice. 
“ Let him bring my lawyer, Mr. Harton, here at once. 
It is a matter of life and death. In God’s name, let 
them hasten !” 

The servant retired. All was still in the sick room. 


THE HEIR’S RETURN. 


10 

The earl, leaning on his trembling elbow, listened in- 
tently. And suddenly, as the sharp ring of a horse’s 
hoofs on the graveled drive reached his straining ears, a 
look of relief mantled his face, and he sank back on his 
pillow. 

“ I shall last till morning,” he said. “ Hartson will be 
here in three hours at the furthest. I shall make all safe 
yet. But what a peril I have run ! I have plenty of 
time — thank God !’* 

“ Are you going to make a will, grandfather ?” asked 
Lord Ronald, in surprise. 

* Yes — yes.” 

“ But the estates are entailed, grandfather, are they 
not ?” 

“ Yes, they are entailed, and go with the title. But I 
have freehold estates. I must make a will this night 
bequeathing them to you. I have been mad, I think, 
and so has Hartson. No will — why, should a certain 
event happen, Ronald, you would be left poor, with only 
the pittance of your mother’s private fortune. And you 
would lose Hellene. Two lives wrecked because of my 
fatal imprudence. But God is merciful. The will shall 
be made in time !” 

“ But, grandfather,” asked Lord Ronald, wonderingly, 
“ what is this you fear ? What event can deprive me of 
Hellene and my succession to the earldom of Charle- 
wick ?” 

“ Odo’s return !” said the earl, in a shrill whisper. 

Lord Ronald started. 

“Why, my uncle is dead — murdered !” he exclaimed, 
in a low, troubled voice, quite sure now that the earl 
was suffering under some strange vagary such as often 
enhances the horrors of illness. “ Dear grandfather, be 
calm. My uncle will never return.” 

The old lord sighed heavily. 


THE HEIR’S RETURN. 


17 


“ You have been taught that he is dead,” he said. “ I 
believed him dead. We never found a trace of him. His 
silence for twenty years seems to prove that he is dead. 
Hartson is convinced of his death, and I have never 
doubted his death till now. But what if he lives ? What 
if he comes back?” 

“ Impossible — ” 

“ Ah, so I thought till now. His absence is wrapped 
in mystery, dense, black, impenetrable. He disappeared 
in a single night without a sign or warning. Was he 
drowned in the Thames by some assassin ? Is he buried 
in some lonely spot ? Or will he come forth from the 
darkness and gloom of all this mystery to work you 
evil ? He has never been heard from in all these years. 
His relatives in Spain have never seen him, or heard 
aught of him. It is as if he had been stricken out of 
existence in a moment of time. He is surely dead. And 
yet, Ronald — if he lives !” 

The earl’s excitement was telling terribly upon his 
strength. Lord Ronald besought him to be calm. Miss 
Clair added her entreaties to those of her betrothed 
lover. 

“My lord,” she said, soothingly, “your lawyer has 
proved to you that Lord Odo Charlton must be dead. 
I beg you to be calm. This excitement weakens you.” 

“ Ronald,” said the earl, more quietly, “if Odo Charl- 
ton lives, he will turn you out of the home yoi* have 
been taught to believe your own — he will hate you as he 
hated your father — he will persecute you — will seek 
your utter destruction. He is subtle as a serpent, as 
cruel as a tiger. Send another messenger for Hartson, 
lest some accident happen to the first. Oh, if Hartson 
were here now — ” 

He paused, as an altercation was heard without, in 
which the voice of the servant was distinguished, and 


18 


THE HEIR’S RETURN. 


as the door of the chamber slowly opened, and a man 
was revealed standing upon the threshold. 

The eyes of the earl, of Lord Ronald, and of Miss 
Hellene, looked simultaneously toward the intruder. 

He was a tall, slender, supple man of middle age, yet 
looking younger, with a swarthy skin, hair black as jet, 
eyes like sloes, and a large, ill-shaped mouth on which 
sat a mocking smile. There was something evil in his 
looks. A cruel demon stared out of his sombre eyes. 
A horrible fascination seemed to cling to him as an odor 
clings to a flower. 

Miss Clair shrank back in terror of him. Lord Ronald 
waved back the audacious stranger with haughty com- 
mand. 

But the Earl of Charlewick, with a supreme horror 
dilating his eyes, cried out shrilly : 

“ Odd 7 It is Odo !” 

The intruder came slowly into the room, bowing and 
smiling evilly. 

“Yes, it is Odo !” he declared in a sinister, pitiless 
voice, which rang with triumph. “ Back again after 
twenty years ! Back to take my place as your heir, my 
lord. Back at last !” 

The voice dissipated the last faint doubt the earl 
might have entertained of the intruder’s identity. Lord 
Charlewick sprang up in his bed, uttered a wild shriek, 
and fell back — dead ! 


•IN A DIFFICULT PATH. 


19 


CHAPTER II. 

IN A DIFFICULT PATH. 

In the West Riding of Yorkshire, upon a wide, bleak, 
lonely moor, stood, and still stands, a dingy, weather- 
beaten house. It is of considerable size, built of red 
brick, with a tall, steep roof, such as is rarely seen out 
of France, containing three rows of pert dormer windows, 
representing three additional stories. 

This house had been built early in the present century 
by a French exile named Racquet. He had subsequently 
been recalled to France by a change of government, and 
the house had been sold into English hands, but the 
name given to it by its original proprietor still adhered 
to it in modified form. It was known throughout the 
country-side as Racket Hall. 

Upon the morning of the day subsequent to the return 
to Charlewick-le-Grand, in Devonshire, of the dark and 
mysterious heir, Lord Odo Charlton, a man sat in the 
library of Racket Hall, looking out upon the desolate 
moor with a scowling face, and watching a girl who was 
strolling in the tangled, neglected garden. 

The man was Mr. Nizbit, the tenant of the gloomy 
house and outlying grounds. He had lived here some 
twenty years. 

He was a thin, wizzen-faced, elderly person, querulous, 
snarling, and supremely selfish ; an invalid and hypo- 
chondriac, of the class known as “ broken-down gentle- 
men.” 

“ Confound it all !” he muttered. “ I hate a scene, 
but the girl has got to be told ; and I must tell her at 
once, if the telling kills me. Edda ! I say, Edda !” 


20 


IN A DIFFICULT PATH.* 


The girl in the garden turned at the sound of his sharp 
voice, and approached the house with a bounding, grace- 
ful step. 

She was a gay, bright, saucy young creature, with a 
sparkling, piquant face of wondrous witchery. She had 
a clear, olive skin, stained in the cheeks with vivid scar- 
let ; black, velvety eyes, proud, sw’eet, yet half-defiant 
in their glances ; jetty hair, curling in tiny rings close 
to her small head ; and a slight, buoyant, graceful fig- 
ure, whose every motion was poetry. 

She sprang in lightly at the open French window, cry- 
ing out, in clear, ringing tones : 

“ Well, uncle, what is it ? Have you a twinge of gout 
in your great toe, a stitch in your side, or a misery in 
your back ? Shall I make you a tea, a poultice, or a 
plaster?” 

“ Oh, my nerves !” moaned Mr. Nizbit. “And this is 
all the sympathy you have for suffering, you heartless, 
ungrateful girl !” 

“ If you’re actually suffering, uncle, I’m sorry,” said 
Edda, truthfully. “ But you know you have flagged me 
nearly to death with your aches and pains, when half of 
them were in your ‘ mind’s eye, Horatio !’ What can I 
do for you, uncle ?” 

“ Nothing,” snarled Mr. Nizbit. “ Do moderate your 
tones, Edda. Speak in a whisper. Your voice jars my 
nerves. My nervous system is so exquisitely organized 
that no ordinary mind can even understand its delicacy. 
Softly, now, Edda. I have called you in, not to minister 
to me, but to make a communication to you. Sit down.” 

Edda sat down as directed. She understood Mr. Niz- 
bit thoroughly and as thoroughly despised the weakness 
and meanness of his character. She looked at him now 
with a bright, keen gaze that embarrassed him. 

“ Do turn your eyes away, Edda,” he fretted. “ I 


II* A DIFFICULT PATH. 


21 


don’t like to be looked at, you well know. I don’t want 
any scene. Hear what I have to say, and then creep 
silently out of the room. Oh, my poor head ! Just 
hand me the sal volatile and my toilet-vinegar.” 

Edda placed the desired articles within his reach. He 
proceeded to revive himself with his favorite remedies, 
sighing like a martyr. 

“ I am ready for your momentous revelation, uncle,” 
said Edda, in her clear, sweet tones. “ I can guess it, 
perhaps, and so spare you the anguish of declaring it. 
Your morning salad, perhaps, did not agree with you.” 

Mr. Nizbit turned upon the audacious girl a look of 
mingled reproach and anger. Then in a stronger Voice, 
tinged with acidity, he said : 

“ I will not give you further opportunity to mock my 
feeble digestive powers, or to sneer at the general deli- 
cacy of my poor frame. No one understands me. No 
one ever did. My poor wife wore herself out in serving 
me, but she died without a thorough comprehension of 
the extreme tenuity of my constitution. The light still 
burns feebly, but the lamp is shattered,” snivelled Mr. 
Nizbit, waxing poetic. “A puff of wind — the faintest 
breeze — may extinguish that light forever. For 
Heaven’s sake, Edda, sit still,” he added, in his usual 
snarl. “That impatient motion rasps my poor nerves.” 

“ Who are those rough men in the kitchen, uncle ?” 
said Edda coolly, changing the conversation abruptly. 
“ They sit by the windows, smoking their stumpy black 
pipes and poisoning the very air. One of them actually 
spoke to me as familiarly as if he were my equal, when 
he came, an hour ago.” 

“ Those men are officers put in on an execution,” said 
Mr. Nizbit, groaning. “They have taken possesssion of 
the house.” 

“ What for, uncle ?’* 


22 


IN A DIFFICULT PATH. 


“ Because I haven’t paid my rent in two years, and 
they are to remain here at my expense until I pay up 
arrears, or until I am ejected. They are to see that I 
move none of our poor sticks of furniture.” 

Edda looked dismayed. 

“What, are we so poor, uncle ?” she exclaimed. 

“ I have twenty pounds left in the world — that’s all,” 
said Mr. Nizbit, grimly. “ My housekeeper came in while 
you were on the moor, to give me warning. I told her 
she might go to-day, but I can’t pay her. I’m regularly 
dead-beat. I’ve got to the end of my small fortune, and 
I so helpless, such a victim to myriad diseases.” 

“ Am I to understand that we must leave Racket 
Hall ?” demanded Edda. 

“ Oh, dear ! Oh dear ! Don’t bounce, whatever you do. 
My head ! My lungs ! My heart ! Don’t excite me 
Hush! don’t speak. My home is broken up. This house 
belongs to a very wealthy nobleman, Lord Charlewick, 
of Devonshire, but his agent refuses to allow me to re- 
main longer. I have no money to pay up the two year’s 
arrears. And so I am going away Edda. I’ve a niece 
down in London, and she’ll give me house-room rather 
than see me taken to the union. I know her stuffy house 
will be the death of me, but I have no other refuge. I’m 
going to-day. I shall sleep to-night at Hebden Bridge, 
and proceed in the morning by slow stages to London.” 

He snuffed his salts nervously, looking uneasily at the 
girl, who regarded him quite composedly, as she said : 

“Your niece has never been to see us* uncle, and she 
may not fancy having us as inmates of her house. If 
she don’t want us I presume she’ll tell us so, however. 
How soon am I to have the trunks packed ?” 

“The housekeeper ’ll pack my poor boxes,” said Mr. 
Nizbit, nervously. “But yours — ah, you’re not going 
with me to my niece’s house, you know.” 


IN A DIFFICULT PATH. 


23 


“ Indeed ! Am I to stay here ?” 

“ No, no. We’re regularly ejected, if you want the 
plain truth, Edda.” 

“ Hum ! said Edda, her cool gaze becoming embarass- 
ing to Mr. Nizbit, “ What is to become of me, then ?” 

“ You — you are to shift for yourself.” 

“An attractive programme — for you, uncle,” said 
Edda, “ but it is not plain enough to suit me. I suppose 
you mean that I am to earn my own living. Very good. 
I have been educated for that purpose, I suppose. I’ve 
had governesses all my life. I’m nineteen years old, and 
I have the courage of a woman. But situations as gov- 
ernesses are not as thick as blackberries in autumn, I 
regret to say. What am I to do ?” 

Mr. Nizbit groaned, but nerved himself to answer. He 
realized that he must disembarrass himself of the girl 
immediately, and he accordingly made himself a martyr 
to the necessity. 

“ I’ve got twenty pounds, as I said, Edda,” he re- 
marked, in his querulous voice. “ Here’s five for you. 
Take it. It’s all I can ever give you, so don't beg for 
more.” 

Edda took the money, putting it in her pocket. 

“You see,” said Mr. Nizbit, “you’re — don’t faint, nor 
cry out — you’re not my niece. You’ve no claims on me 
whatever. I’ve been well paid for taking care of you 
but the money ceased to come for your support a year 
ago, and that is why my troubles have overtaken me.” 

“I have long known that I am not your niece, uncle,” 
said Edda, quietly. “ If your wife had not told me on 
her death-bed, I might still have reached a knowledge 
of the truth from your manner. You know you never 
wasted much affection on me. Aunt did not tell me 
more than that I was no relation to you or her. Who 
am I ? Have I a right to my name of Edda Brend ?” 


24 


IN A DIFFICULT PATH. 


“Yes — no — I don’t know,” answered Mr. Nizbit, con- 
siderably relieved that his revelation had not caused a 
scene. “ Your mother gave you that name — it’s an odd 
one — as a mark set upon you, I suppose, by which she 
might know you, if you and she should ever meet.” 

The girl’s face actually flashed with emotion. 

“ What !” she cried. “ Does my mother live ? I — I 
thought she was dead. Aunt would not tell me. Where 
is my mother ?” 

Mr. Nizbit held up both his hands, moaning feebly. 

“ Oh, dear ! oh, dear !” he whispered. “ My nerves ! 
My poor throbbing brain. You will shatter me com- 
pletely. Hush ! Not a word. I’ll tell you all I know, 
and you can listen in silence.” 

He paused to recover himself, making liberal use of 
the contents of the bottles within his reach, and finally 
said : 

“ I ought to have written out a statement of the facts, 
to be read in your own room. Your wild impetuosity is 
a direct assault upon my reason — ” 

“My mother!” cried Edda, imperiously. “Tell me 
of my mother.” 

“We have lived here twenty-two years,” said Mr. Niz- 
bit gasping out his words one at a time, as if each were 
to be his last, “ and when we first came here, my wife 
advertised to take invalids to lodge or board with us. 
But the house was so awfully lonely that one invalid 
went melancholy mad, and another arose from his sick- 
bed and walked five miles to the nearest hamlet rather 
than remain. Our last lodger was a young woman — a 
mere girl, as young as you’re now — who came with her 
maid. The young woman gave her name as Mrs. Brend. 
She took all our unoccupied rooms, paid us liberally, 
and remained here two months. The very lonliness and 
desolation around Racket Hall proved to her its strong- 


IN A DIFFICULT PATH. 


25 


est recommendation. An atmosphere of mystery envel- 
oped her. She told us nothing of herself save that she 
was a widow. Her maid, a staid, discreet woman, was 
equally close-mouthed ; but Mrs. Brend had plenty of 
money, and paid her way in advance right royally.; so, 
of course, we deemed it best not to betray the curiosity 
we felt concerning her. Her posthumous child was 
born here. A physician from Moor End attended Mrs. 
Brend, but he learned as little as we did concerning our 
lodger. Her child was yourself. She went away when 
you were a month old, and left you in the care of my 
wife, and here you have since remained.” 

“ The heartless thing !” flashed Edda. “ Why did she 
leave me among strangers of whom she knew nothing ?” 

“She had her reasons, doubtless,” said Mr. Nizbit, 
snuffing his vinaigrette. “ Her conduct in leaving you 
was of a piece with the rest of the mystery surrounding 
her. She was no ordinary woman, and had no ordinary 
history. She left a sum of money for your support. 
The maid, or nurse, or attendant, has been here since, on 
a certain day of every year, arriving in a fly at night, 
bringing with her a bag of gold to pay for your educa- 
tion and support. It was the nurse who compelled us 
to procure a governess for you ; it was the nurse who 
paid the governess. The nurse always paid you a visit, 
bending over you as you slept, and studying your face 
with strange intentne^s, but she never kissed you nor 
looked upon you with affection or tenderness. I fancied 
that she hated you, and would rejoice to find upon one 
of her visits that you were dead and buried.” 

A stormy look gloomed the girl’s black eyes. Her 
little dark face was full of a passionate anger and bitter- 
ness, as she cried impetuously : 

“ So this woman — my mother, disappeared utterly in 
a mystery as deep as that from which she had emerged, 


26 


IN A DIFFICULT PATH. 


leaving behind her the little baby she hated ? Has she 
never seen me since ?” 

“ She came once, deeply vailed and dressed in shabby 
mourning garments, and looked upon you as you slept,” 
answered Mr. Nizbit. “She exhibited no affection -for 
you before us, but went into your room alone and locked 
the door. You did not waken during her visit. She 
looked poor, but I saw the gleam of diamonds through 
her cotton gloves, so I knew she was in disguise.” 

“A nice mother!” said Edda, with bitter sarcasm. 
“ Did she or the nurse ever allude to my future ?” 

“ Never. They evidently meant to leave you here 
always. 

“ Well, you are like my own mother, it seems,” said 
the young girl, “in washing your hands of me. You 
have given me five pounds to start out into the world 
with. A handsome fortune for one brought up in lux- 
ury, truly. What am I to do ? Where shall I go ?” 

‘ r I should advise you to seek your mother.” 

“And become a sort of female Japhet, in search of a 
parent ? Thank you, no. I should not be likely to find 
Mrs. Brend, and if I did I should decline her acquaint- 
ance,” said Edda, with a mutinous curl of her proud 
lips. “ What ! force myself on a mother who flung me 
aside as something of no more value to her than a worn- 
out glove !” 

“You are foolish, girl,” said Mr. Nizbit, querulously. 
“ If you don’t go to her, what is to become of you ? I 
can’t keep you with me. You can’t expect me to.” 

“You speak as if you knew the whereabouts of my 
mother. Where is she ?” 

“The nurse came invariably upon the last night of 
May,” replied Mr. Nizbit. “ She has missed the two last 
visits, you see. My wife and I had a great deal of curi- 
osity, and so — and so— I tracked her home on one occa- 


IN A DIFFICULT PATH. 


27 


sion despite all her precautions. On the evening upon 
which she annually appeared I was not at home. My 
wife reported me ill in bed. I was really at Hebden 
Bridge Railway Station, the nearest station to us, 
cleverly disguised, and waiting for her. The nurse, 
after visiting you that night, did not stop at Moor End 
hamlet, but pushed on to Hebden Bridge and took the 
morning express for Sheffield. Unknown to her, I trav- 
eled by the same train. She pursued her journey to 
London — so did I. I had a monstrous mystery to solve, 
and I meant to solve it. I tracked the woman to Lon- 
don to the West End — to Cavendish Square. I had run 
my game to earth, but I did not intend to make money 
out of the affair. I’m poor, but I’m a gentleman. 
Besides, as I was well paid, I was sure to gain more by 
silence than by telling the woman that I had played the 
spy on her.” 

“The latter consideration was no doubt the stronger,” 
commented Edda, scornfully. 

Mr. Nizbit’s sallow cheeks flushed. It was his great 
pride that he was a “ gentleman,” incapable of soiling 
his hands with work, or disgracing his lineage by an 
ungentlemanly action. Evidently he had forgotten his 
“ principles ” when he played the spy as just narrated. 

“ I remained in London a day or two, pursuing my 
secret investigations,” resumed Mr. Nizbit presently, in 
his usual die-away voice, encouraging himself by the 
feeble use of his various bottles, “and I made certain 
discoveries. It had been years since Mrs. Brend came 
here — ten years, in fact. Young as she was when I first 
saw her — she was seventeen, I think — there was that 
about her that compelled one to respect her. She wore 
a wedding-ring, and I know that she was married. She 
was one of those innocent, shy, dainty, little creatures 
that no man would dare insult. And yet I found that 


28 


IN A DIFFICULT PATH. 


the house in Russell Sqnare, into which the nurse had 
disappeared, was the home of Mr. Sebastian Powys, a 
wealthy banker, an off-shoot of a noble family, an hon- 
orable, upright man, as proud as Lucifer, unbending, 
commanding, relentless, yet fond to idolatry of his only 
child. And this only child was a young lady, Miss 
Agnace Powys, beautiful, haughty, and with all her 
father’s pride. I haunted the square the next evening, 
and was fortunate enough to see Mr. and Miss Powys 
enter their carriage, on their way to a party.” 

“ Well ?” cried Edda, breathlessly, her dark face 
aglow. 

“ The light from the open hallway fell on the face of 
Miss Powys,” said Mr. Nizbit, slowly. “ I beheld a stately 
grand, and beautiful woman, as different from little Mrs. 
Brend as darkness is different from light. Had I had a 
thought of black-mail, I would as soon have put my head 
into a lion’s jaws as carried that thought into effect. 
Why, any word from me against that haughty belle 
would have brought me into serious trouble. She was 
brilliant, courted, an heiress, as high above me as a star. 
It was ten years after Mrs Brend’s first visit to us, as I 
said, and what could I prove ? I even doubted myself. 
I might not have adhered to my convictions in a court 
of justice, when badgered by close questioning ; and yet — 
as God lives — I believe that proud Miss Agnace Powys 
to be your own mother !” 

The girl’s face flushed scarlet. 

“Well, I don’t think so,” she said, shortly. “It’s im- 
possible. Pm too fiery to have sprung from such a human 
iceberg. But I’d like to see this Miss Powys.” 

“Of course. You’ll start for London to-day,” said 
Mr. Nizbit. “ We’ll travel to town together. You must 
go to Cavendish Square, and if Miss Powys won’t see 
you, ask for the nurse, Mrs. Catharine. That’s the only 


IN A DIFFICULT PATH. 


29 


name the maid ever gave us. If they refuse to provide 
for you or acknowledge you, you’ll have to earn your 
own living. You must not come to me to help you.” 

“ You needn’t be troubled, I sha’n’t apply to you for 
help,” returned Edda, fiercely. I will see this Miss 
Powys ; but my mother I will not, I know I shall hate 
her. Whether I should accept her forced charity — if she 
yielded any, remains to be seen. I’m no helpless doll, if 
I have lived on this moor all my life, and seen no more 
of the world than the hamlet of Moor End. And I shall 
not accept your escort to London. We part here. I’m 
sure I’m much obliged to you for taking charge of me 
all these years — for liberal pay — and as there has never 
been any love lost between us, I wont pretend to shed 
tears. I owe you nothing, so good-morning and good-by.” 

With a fiery little nod, she flashed out of the room and 
was gone. 

Her impetuous departure induced a sensation of faint- 
ness, with a return of a host of premonitory symptoms 
to Mr. Nizbit’s delicate frame, and he leaned back in his 
chair groaning dismally. 

Half an hour later, when he had recovered from the 
effects of his unusual emotions, looking out of the win- 
dow, he beheld far out upon the moor a slender inde- 
pendent little figure in black, marching sturdily onward 
through the furze and the heather. 

“Good gracious !” he ejaculated, with a snarl. “The 
girl’s gone ! She’s going to walk to Moor End, and will 
hurry on to London by the first train. Deliver me from 
such fiery, impetuous, willful creatures ! Well, she’s cut 
herself adrift from me, and I sha’n’t worry about her. 
But I can tell her one thing — she’s going to a mighty 
uncertain fate. If Miss Agnace Powys is my quondam 
lodger little Mrs. Brend, and I believe she is, despite the 
radical difference between the two characters, she is by 


30 


A RES.OLUTE ADVANCE. 


no means sure to acknowledge her daughter. And if 
she refuses to acknowledge her, and Edda becomes con- 
vinced of the relationship, on my soul, I believe the lit- 
tle spitfire ’ll make her trouble. I’d give a fortune, if 
I had it to spare, just to witness the interview between 
them. And if Miss Powys is not Edda’s mother, what 
is to become of Edda ?” 


CHAPTER III. 

A RESOLUTE ADVANCE. 

Mr. Nizbit was quite right in his conclusions. Edda 
Brend had indeed taken her leave of him and of Racket 
Hall, and was on her way to London. Born and bred 
upon that lonely Yorkshire moor, from which she had 
never strayed further than Moor End, the nearest hamlet, 
five miles distant, knowing nothing of the world and its 
lurking perils, utterly friendless and alone, bent upon a 
mission whose result was to influence her whole future 
life, determined to solve the mystery of her existence, 
one would have expected Edda to show a spirit of 
shrinking, of timidity, and of depressing anxiety and 
fears. 

But, to the contrary, the girl was as gay and bright 
as a bird just escaped from its cage. The June morning 
was delightful. There was a breeze upon the broad 
sweep of moorland. Edda felt a delicious sense of 
lightness and buoyancy as she walked onward. She had 
longed for months to leave the desolate seclusion of her 
home, and to see something of life, and now her oppor- 
tunity had come. She had started out to seek her for- 


A RESOLUTE ADVANCE. 


31 


tune. What was that fortune to be? In her new-found 
freedom Edda did not trouble herself with unpleasant 
anticipations. 

Her five-mile walk over the moor was easily accom- 
plished, and long before noon Edda entered the small 
hamlet with a springing step, and made her way to the 
only inn Moor End afforded. 

It was an old-fashioned little country inn, of a type 
now nearly extinct. It was known as The Moor Hen, 
and its swinging, creaking sign-board exhibited a faded 
picture of a weather-beaten fowl of forlorn aspect. The 
inn itself was dingy and weather-worn, but overflowed 
with bustling country life. Chickens, ducks and geese, 
many of them of almost infinitesimal proportions, 
abounded in the vicinity of the watering troughs. The 
landlady’s voice could be heard through the open win- 
dows apostrophizing her maids. The landlord was alone 
in the bar, smoking his pipe. Business was slack at The 
Moor Hen at this hour of the day, but in the evening 
the farm-laborers were wont to congregate in the snug 
bar or on the porch and smoke their pipes and enjoy a 
social glass, while they discussed such political questions 
as penetrated from the busy outside world to their 
secluded Yorkshire homes. 

Edda was well known at The Moor Hen. She was 
accustomed to visit the inn once a week, when at Moor 
End, for the single newspaper patronized by Mr. Nizbit. 
She stepped into the bar now, her bundle on her arm, 
and demanded, with quite a traveled air, for a carriage 
to convey her to Hebden Bridge. 

The worthy landlord stared at her in an open-mouthed 
amazement. That “Miss Edda, of Racket Hall,” should 
be leaving home, was something so utterly unprece- 
dented that he could scarcely believe that he had heard 
her aright. 


32 


A RESOLUTE ADVANCE. 


“ This is just one of your pranks, Miss Edda,” he said, 
at length. “ You were always that full of spirit that I 
could not understand you.” 

“Well, you can understand a plain order, can’t you ?” 
asked the girl, coolly. “ I am going to Hebden Bridge. 
Will you send me in your musty old chaise with your 
scrubby ponies, or shall I walk ?” 

“ Massy bless my soul,” said the old landlord. “If 
you’re bound to go, go it is ; but when Mr. Nizbit hears 
of my abetting of you’re going off, he’ll be worse nor a 
nest of yaller hornets in my ears.” 

“ Mr. Nizbit knows I’m going,” said Edda. “ The 
truth is, uncle owes two years’ rent, and our landlord, 
the rich Earl of Charlewick, or his agent, has put in an 
execution, and we are to be turned out. So my going 
is all right. I want to catch the evening train for Lon- 
don — so be lively.” 

The saucy little face was yet so earnest and cool and 
self-possessed, that the landlord could not refuse to yield 
obedience to Edda’s demands. He replied that his 
equipage would be ready for the journey in half an hour 
and Edda went into the little inn-parlor and made her- 
self comfortable during the interval of waiting. 

The gossiping landlady paid the young traveler a call 
or two, but Edda, while courteous and pleasant, was 
not in the least degree communicative, and the good 
woman’s curiosity was doomed to remain unsatisfied. 

The rickety inn-chaise was at the door at the time 
specified by the landlord, and a superannuated driver 
was upon the front seat holding the reins. Edda clam- 
bered into her place, bundle and all, and drove away 
from the scenes of her young life without a shadow of 
regret. 

She reached Hebden Bridge in due season, and waited 
at the station until the arrival of the evening express. 


ED I)A CA1.M3*0X .MISS POWYS 
























r'\ . 
















* s i 











/ 
































































\ 




A RESOLUTE ADVANCE. 


33 


She had never seen a railway in her life, but she was by 
no means dismayed at the sight of the fiery-eyed engine 
as it steamed into the station like some horrible mon- 
ster breathing destruction. She had read a great deal, 
Mr. Nizbit having an extensive but dilapidated and 
rather miscellaneous library a remnant of better days ; 
and besides the knowledge thus imbibed, Edda had a 
very cool head upon her young shoulders, and was not 
one to be easily frightened. 

She made the necessary changes of coach, reaching 
Sheffield safely, and hastened'on to London by the late 
night-train, arriving at the London terminus in the early 
morning. 

She alighted from her coach, somewhat travel-stained, 
a trifle bewildered, but just as resolute and self-pos- 
sessed as she had been on her native moor. She crossed 
the platform and took a cab, still clutching her bundle 
as if it had contained priceless jewels, rather than very 
ordinary articles of attire. 

“ What address ?” asked the cabman, closing the 
door. 

Edda hesitated an instant. She wore already her best 
dress, a plainly made, scanty black silk suit, and a little 
black straw sailor hat, with a scared-looking brim in 
full retreat, was perched upon the back of her head, 
leaving visible her plentiful crop of jetty curls. She 
looked piquant, lovely, with a fresh, bewitching beauty, 
and no arts of the toilet could improve her. This 
thought, however, was very far from entering Edda’s 
head. She had not a shadow of vanity in her whole- 
souled and generous nature. 

“I suppose it’s too early for a fashionable lady to be 
up,” she thought. “ I don’t know any hotel, and I’m 
not going to one until I have seen Miss Powys. Where 
am I to spend the next hour or two ?” 


34 


A RESOLUTE ADVANCE. 


Her decision was promptly made. 

“ I dont want to go to a hotel,” she said, frankly, 
“and I’m afraid the lady I’m going to see isn’t up yet. 
I suppose I might wait in some park, might I not ?” 

“ Lawks, yes, Miss,” replied the cabman, rather more 
familiarly than he would have done had not his fare 
carried so plebeian a bundle, and been without o>ther 
luggage. “ But if I might be so bold, I should say, 
Miss, as how a pastry-cook’s shop, where you might get 
a cup of corphy and a hot roll, would be more agreeable 
like.” 

“ Very well,” said Edda. “ Take me to a respectable 
pastry-cook’s. And mind, cabby,” she continued, with 
a stern glance from her keen, bright eyes, “ if you turn 
into any dingy streets I shall call the police. I’ve read 
about London ways, and I’m prepared for them.” 

“ Well, I never !” muttered the cabman, as he climbed 
up to his box and drove out of the station. “ She’s a 
rare un, she is. Does she think her pitiful little bundle 
is going to tempt people to murder and rob her ? She’ll 
take care of herself, she will, and noi mistake. And she’s 
a regular little beauty of the Belgravey sort, but her 
ma needn’t worry about her, she needn’t, not any.” 

The drive to the pastry-cook’s was so long that Edda’s 
•ready suspicions we-e all alive, and she was looking out 
of the cab window, half inclined to make her escape,' 
when at last the cab halted before a pastry-cook’s shop 
in Oxford street, and the cabman sprang down and 
opened the door for her to alight. 

A glance at the street, and the establishment assured 
the young traveler that all was right. She sprang out 
lightly, disdaining assistance, and went into the pastry- 
cook’s with an assured air. 

The hour was too early for fashionable customers and 
the tables were unoccupied. The shopwomen were gos- 


A RESOLUTE ADVANCE. 


35 


sipping together and paid little heed to the early and 
rather odd-looking customer. Edda seated herself at 
one of the tables which commanded a view of the cab 
in which she had left her worldly effects, and rapped 
smartly upon the marble, summoning a shopwoman to 
wait upon her. 

“ A cup of hot coffee and some buns,” said Edda, with 
a glance at the well-laden counter. 

The attendant flitted away upon her errand. The 
refreshments were brought, and Edd£ partook of them 
very leisurely. Other early and unfashionable custom- 
ers appeared, consumed coffee and rolls, and went out. 
Edda regarded them all with grave scrutiny, lingering 
over her repast nearly an hour. At last she arose, paid 
her bill, and returned to her cab. 

“ Cavendish Square,” she directed. “ Drive slowly.” 

It was nearly ten o’clock when the cab rolled into 
Cavendish Square and Edda alighted at the house of 
the wealthy banker, Mr. Sebastian Powys. She paid 
and dismissed the cabman, declining his further services, 
and mounted the stone-steps and sounded the polished 
knocker quite peremptorily. 

A footman in dark -green and amber, with a pair of 
legs whose calves were doubtless the envy of every 
Jeames in the Square, appeared, opening the door, and 
eyeing the girl outside with a supercilious stare. Her 
plebeian bundle told against her here also. 

“ The airy door, Miss,” said the footman, patroniz- 
ingly. “You’ve made a mistake.” 

He was about to close the door, but Edda, her eyes 
flashing, a haughty anger in her young face, quietly 
stepped upon the threshold, and glided past him into 
the hall. 

“I wish to see Miss Powys,” she said, in an imperious 
manner that might have befitted a queen, and which 


36 


A RESOLUTE ADVANCE. 


did not fail to impress the bewildered lackey. “ Say to 
her that a young lady wishes to see her.” 

“But — ah — it’s impossible,” stammered the footman. 
“Miss Powys has not yet risen.” 

“ Then I’ll wait until she does rise,” said Edda, cooly. 
“ I’m in no hurry.” 

She looked about her. The grand hall, with marble 
floor, and imposing staircase, with statues in niches, 
mirrors, couches, and tall, carved chairs, was in the cen- 
ter of the house, with rooms opening off both sides of it. 
An open door at the left permitted a glimpse of the 
state drawing-room, which extended along one entire 
side of the dwelling. Edda quietly turned into this 
apartment, bundle in hand, to the great horror of the 
lackey, who essayed in vain to arrest her progress. 

“Deliver my message to Miss Powys at once,” com- 
manded Edda, haughtily. 

“What name shall I say, Miss ?” asked the footman, in 
a subdued manner. 

“ No name.” 

Edda sank down into a luxurious fauteuil with easy 
self-possession. The footman hesitated, but another 
glance from the dusky eyes of the intruder compelled his 
obedience. He went out into the hall and summoned a 
fellow-servant. The two whispered together, looking in 
upon the singular visitor through the open door, and the 
second servant then glided noiselessly up stairs to the 
apartments of Miss Powys, while the footman remained 
on guard in the hall, keeping an eye upon Edda. 

That young lady, who, as is seen, had no meekness 
and but little humility in her nature, was not at all dis- 
composed by this 'surveillance. She had the air of being 
at home. She surveyed the drawing-room as if used to 
such apartments, whereas in reality she had known all 
her life only the common-place, dingy rooms at Racket 


A RESOLUTE ADVANCE. 


37 


Hall, and this room quite surpassed her wildest dreams 
of grandeur. 

It was about sixty feet in length, and proportionately 
high. The walls were panelled with flutings of pale- 
green satin. A thick-piled carpet of shaded green cov- 
ered the floor, and was bordered with green and gold. 
The gilded chairs and furniture were upholstered in 
pale-greem satin, exquisitely embroidered by hand in 
pale gold. The curtains of green satin over lace were 
looped with bands of exquisite embroidery. There were 
windows at each end of the room, those in front looking 
out upon the square, and those in the rear looking into 
a conservatory. The frescoed ceiling, the two carved 
marble mantel-pieces, the productions of a famous sculp 
tor, the glittering gasoliers, the pictures, the statuary, the 
bronzes, all were regarded by the composed young vis- 
itor without a shadow of Surprise or apparent admira- 
tion. One would have believed that she had been used 
to even superior magnificence all her life. 

It is scarcely to be supposed that Edda stood upon 
the threshold of the expected solution of the mystery 
of her life without experiencing a quicker beating of 
her heart. In truth, she was actually nervous for the 
first time in her life. What the result of her interview 
with Miss Powys was to be she could not imagine. 
Was Miss Powys her mother ? What would Miss Powys 
say to her ? These questions thrilled her with strange 
and' uneasy sensations. But she felt no sentiment of 
yearning toward the lady she had come to see, whatever 
the relationship between them might prove to be. She 
looked at the hard facts in the case, and was resolved to 
demand justice, and justice alone. She was as proud 
as she was generous, as determined as she was willful. 

Presently the servant who had gone up-stairs returned, 


38 


A RESOLUTE ADVANCE. 


spoke in a whisper to his fellow, and disappeared in the 
direction of the servant’s hall. 

A minute later, a woman’s step was heard on the 
marble staircase, the rustling of a dress reached Edda’s 
ears, and its wearer entered the drawing-room. 

Edda made a movement to rise, but after a glance at 
the new-comer sank back in her seat in graceful indolence. 

The woman, she had divined instinctively- was not 
Miss Powys. 

She was an elderly person, robust and rotund, with a 
plain, common-place sort of face, shaded by iron-gray 
hair, combed smoothly back under a matronly cap. She 
was attired respectably in black silk, and looked like a 
confidential upper servant or lady’s maid. That any con- 
fidence reposed in her would be held absolutely sacred, 
one could not doubt after one look into her honest, reti- 
cent eyes, and at her closely compressed mouth. 

“ Miss Powys desires to be excused from seeing you,” 
sa‘d the woman, regarding the visitor narrowly. “The 
servant brought up no name, and Miss Powys does not 
see strangers. If you want assistance in money or sew- 
ing, you can state your wants to me. I am Miss Powys’ 
own maid. 

“Oh, indeed,” said Edda. “Then you are ‘Mrs. 
Catharine,’ I suppose ?” 

“I am Mrs. Catharine Priggs,” said the woman, stiffly. 
“I am always called Mrs. Priggs.” 

“ Yes ? When you are not at Yorkshire, perhaps.” 

Mrs. Priggs started. 

“ I don’t understand you, Miss,” she exclaimed. “ What 
do you mean ? And what do you want here ?” 

“ My business is with your mistress, my good Mrs. 
Catharine,” said Edda, with inimitable nonchalance. “ I 
do not deal with servants when important private mat- 
ters with their superiors are under consideration. Be 


A RESOLUTE ADVANCE. 


39 


good enough to say to Miss Powys that I came here to 
see her, and that I intend to see her before I depart.” 

“ You must be mad to send such a message as that to 
Miss Powys,” said Mrs. Priggs, unable to restrain her 
anger, and beginning to exhibit a change of countenance 
indicative of fear. At a word from me you will be ex- 
pelled from the house. Who are you?” 

“.You can answer that question better, perhaps, than 
I,” said Edda, quite unmoved. “ I am known — if not to 
fame — then, at least, in the neighborhood of Racket Hall, 
in Yorkshire, as Edda Brend !” 

Mrs. Priggs became pallid to ghastliness. Her lips 
parted as if to speak, but closed again, tremulously. She 
stated at the beautiful girl as if Edda wore a Gorgon’s 
head. 

“You seem surprised to see me here, Mrs. Catharine — 
Prigg s ,” said Edda, easily. “ I suppose you thought me 
buried for life on that dreary Yorkshire moor ? I thought 
so myself, yesterday, but things never turn out as we 
want them to in this world, you see.” 

“ What brought you here ?” asked the woman, 
huskily. 

“ The railway coach, aided and abetted by a cab.” 

“ I — I mean how came you here — at this house ? How 
did you learn Miss Powys’ name ? What do you want 
of her ?” 

“Three questions all in a row. To answer you cate- 
gorically, I came here in quest of certain information,” 
said Edda, with a half stern inflection in her fresh young 
voice. “ I learned Miss Powys’ name through our 
mutual friend Mr. Nizbit, who tracked you home from 
Racket Hall and Hebden Bridge, just seven years ago. 
What I want of Miss Powys I will say to her, not to you !” 

For some moments Miss Powys’ confidential attend- 
ant was dumb and motionless, but her livid countenance 


40 


A RESOLUTE ADVANCE. 


and staring eyes declared that she was suffering some 
deep and terrible emotion. She stared at the young girl 
as if fascinated, studying her face with hungry glances, 
as if to seek a resemblance to some one she had known, 
or to some preconceived idea of her. Then, beginning 
to recover herself, she glanced toward the door. It was 
shut, and the conversation could not therefore have been 
heard by any one without. 

“ I don’t wonder you didn’t recognize me at once, 
Mrs. Catharine — -Priggs,” said Edda, uttering the latter 
name as if it were an after thought ; “ seeing me only 
in my sleep and so long ago, you know ; you could have 
no idea how I would look with my eyes open and my 
countenance animated with its usual beaming expres- 
sion. Besides, I am told that I have changed much in 
the past year or two.” 

Mrs. Priggs evidently could not understand the half- 
mocking humor of the audacious visitor. She continued 
to stare at her as a condemned man might stare at the 
waiting executioner. At last she arose feebly, and said : 

“I will tell my mistress. I will come back to you im- 
mediately.” 

She went out of the room with a reluctant step and 
ascended the broad stair. 

The minutes passed slowly -until half an hour had 
gone. Edda was growing impatient — patience, like 
meekness, was not among her virtues — when Mrs. Priggs 
reappeared, with a firmer step and a calm, unruffled 
visage. 

“Miss Powys will see you, Miss Brend,” she said, in 
a hard, business voice. “ Be so good as to follow me to 
Miss Powys’ boudoir.” 

Depositing her despised little bundle in the fauteuil 
she had occupied, Edda, with quickening pulse, followed 
the maid up the marble stair. 


TERRIBLE QUESTIONS ARISING. 


41 


CHAPTER IV. 

TERRIBLE QUESTIONS ARISING. 

The returned heir of Charlewick did not delay an 
instant in assuming and asserting his new honors. No 
sense of decency, nor shadow of regret or affection for 
his noble father, occurred to restrain him. As the earl 
fell back upon his pillow dead, with a look of horror 
frozen upon his white face and staring from his eyes, 
Lord Odo Charlton strode to the bedside, felt his father’s 
wrist, and said in his hard, cold voice, which rang out 
exultantly : 

“ He’s dead. And I am Earl of Charlewick. I have 
come home to my very own, it seems.” 

He turned his gaze upon Lord Ronald and Miss Hel- 
lene in a manner at once triumphant and defiant. They 
shrank away from him, Hellene in horror, Ronald in 
disgust. 

“ Go to your own room, Hellene,” said hei lover, 
gently. “ This is no place for you now.” 

He led her with tender courtesy to the door, and she 
went away weeping to her own chamber. 

Then Lord Ronald, with a stern, set face’, commanded 
the servant who waited in the corridor to summon Sir 
Henry Dawlish, the London physician. While this order 
was being obeyed, Lord Ronald re-entered the death- 
'chamber and rung the bell loudly. The nurse and 
housekeeper and a few of the upper servants came hur- 
rying in. Sir Henry Dawlish soon appeared. The room 
was speedily alive with subdued movements, soft whis- 
perings, and the painful thrill of low sobbings. 

Lord Odo Charlton remained standing at one side of 


42 


TERRIBLE QUESTIONS ARISING. 


the bed, his arms folded across his chest, his swarthy 
face wearing an inscrutable expression, his Spanish eyes 
of gloom shot with light so strange, so exultant, that 
those looking at him feared him. He watched every 
movement transpiring around him. He knew that his 
identity was as yet unsuspected by the London physi- 
cian and by the household, and that he was looked upon 
as an intruder whose purpose was unknown. 

“You had better retire, sir,” said Sir Henry Dawlish. 
“This is no place for strangers.” 

The returned heir smiled grimly. 

“No?” he said. “Well, I’m no stranger. I am the 
Earl of Charlewick !” 

“ You ! Impossible !” cried Sir Henry, starting, be- 
lieving the stranger demented. “ Lord Ronald Charl- 
ton is now the earl in his grandfather’s stead.” 

“ So that young fellow is Ronald, Ernest’s son ?” said 
the new earl, with a glance at the pale, stern face of his 
nephew. “ I heard to-day that Ernest died years ago, 
and that the old earl was ill unto death. I arrived in 
England to-day, and made all haste to return to Charle- 
wick-le-Grand. How you stare ! Can you not guess 
who I am ? I was Lord Odo Charlton, the elder son of 
this dead earl. And by reason of his death I am the 
present earl.” 

Sir Henry Dawlish was dumb with amazement. Like 
others, he had accepted the theory that Lord Odo Charl- 
ton had been murdered twenty years before. His return 
was as a return from the dead. He disliked the new- 
comer at first sight, and he felt a quick sentiment of pity 
and sympathy for Lord Ronald, who’ had been so long 
known as his grandfather’s heir. 

The new earl read his heart like an open book. 

“ See here,” said his lordship, roughly. “ This is to be 
no Tichborne case — mind that. I’m Odo Charlton, and 


TERRIBLE QUESTIONS ARISING. 


43 


I can prove it. There are Mrs. Partlet, the old house- 
keeper, Mr. Graham, the land-steward, and Mr. Delaney, 
the butler, yonder by the door. They’ll all remember 
me well enough. I’m not a man to be easily forgotten.” 

The sunset had faded, and the room was filling with 
shadows. Some one dropped the curtains over the win- 
dows, and lit the wax candles in their clustering sconces 
on the mantel-piece. The new earl stepped out of the 
light gloom in the shadow of the bed-drapery, and 
approached the little group of weeping servitors near 
the door, addressing each by name. 

They stared at him in terror, the housekeeper believ- 
ing that she beheld a ghost. A few words from the new 
earl assured the trio that it was the lost Odo Charlton 
who stood before them in the flesh. The recognition 
brought more of sorrow than rejoicing. The land- 
steward and the butler looked at Lord Ronald in dis- 
may, while the housekeeper wept and moaned in bitter 
grief. 

“ Come, come, Mrs. Partlet,” said the new earl, impa- 
tiently, with a black scowl which she well remembered. 
“ If you want to remain at Charlewick, you’d better be 
doing something to propitiate me. I want you to pre- 
pare for my use the best rooms in the house. I’milead 
tired.” 

Mrs. Partlet hurried out of the room. 

“Here, Graham,” said the new earl, “come with me 
to the corner yonder, where we can be a little secluded. 
I’ve a few questions to ask you.” 

The land-steward slowly and heavily followed Lord 
Charlewick to the corner designated. It was a small 
recess beside the chimney. The earl flung himself into 
an easy-chair ; Graham remained standing. 

“ You don’t seem glad to see me, Graham,” said his 


44 


TERRIBLE QUESTIONS ARISING. 


iordship. “ I suppose you looked upon Lord Ronald as 
the future earl ? What sort of fellow is he ?” 

The steward’s glances wandered to the noble figure 
of Lord Ronald, as he stood by the bedside in consul- 
tation with Sir Henry Dawlish. There was no lavish 
display of grief in the face or manner of our hero, but 
he looked like one upon whom a great blow has fallen. 
He had loved his grandfather with the tenderest filial 
affection, and his very soul mourned for him, yet his 
face was calm and tearless. 

“ Lord Ronald is one of the noblest men in the world,”- 
replied the land-steward, huskily. “ Every one who 
knows him loves him.” 

“ A milksop, eh ?” 

“ A braver man than Lord Ronald Charlton does not 
live, sir.” 

“ Ah, you are his champion ? Very good. Who was 
the girl he sent out of the room ?” 

“ She was Miss Hellene Clair, the only child of Lord 
Clair, who lives abroad. She is motherless, and a great 
heiress in her own right. She is Lord Ronald’s be- 
trothed wife.” 

“ Pity to disappoint her hopes of becoming a count- 
ess,” muttered the earl. “ I admire that style of woman 
myself. Is the Charlewick estate in a prosperous con- 
dition ?” 

“ Never more so, my lord ; but, excuse me, sir, is this 
a time to discuss questions like these ? The earl is not 
yet cold — ” 

The steward paused, as the new peer favored him 
with a black scowl, like that which had frightened the 
housekeeper. That scowl seemed to transform the 
swarthy face into a demon’s, and Mr. Graham recoiled 
in terror. 

“ I believe I am master here,” said the earl, “and I 


TERRIBLE- QUESTIONS ARISING. 45 

certainly do not intend to hire my land-steward to give 
me lessons in propriety. Whatever I do you are to con- 
sider right and proper. The man who criticises me 
leaves my service and incurs my enmity. ‘ A word to 
the wise is sufficient.’ ” 

The worthy Mr. Graham suppressed his indignation. 
Before he could speak, the chamber door opened, and 
the late earl’s lawyer, Mr. Hartson, came quietly into 
the room. 

He had been on his way to Charlewick-le-Grand and 
had encountered the earl’s messenger when nearing his 
— the lawyer’s — destination. He had learned, since his 
arrival in the house that the earl had died, and the as- 
tounding news of Lord Odo’s return had also been com- 
municated to him. 

He approached the bedside with a troubled, sorrow- 
ful visage, and looked upon the face of the dead. Then 
he exchanged a few words with Lord Ronald Charlton 
and Sir Henry Dawlish, the former communicating to 
him the last intentions of the dead earl. 

“ It’s too late, now,” said the lawyer, in a subdued 
tone. “ If we could have forseen the possibility of Lord 
Odo's return, I should have advised the earl to make a 
wiH, providing for you, Lord Ronald. But we had no 
reason to doubt that he had been murdered, and we 
had every reason to believe that he was dead. Where 
has he been all these twenty years ? What is the mys- 
tery of his absence ?” 

“ I do not know,” said Lord Ronald. “ There has 
been no time for explanations. I have not even spoken 
to him yet.” 

“ The fellow may be an impostor,” said the lawyer, 
suspiciously. “ This Tichborne business may have put 
it into the head of some rascal to personate the lost 
Lord Odo, and thus step into one of the grandest es- 


46 


TERRIBLE QUESTIONS ARISING. 


tates and positions in the kingdom. I should know the. 
real Lord Odo anywhere, after any number of years. 
Come with me. I will speak to him, my lord.” 

Lord Ronald and the lawyer walked toward the new- 
comer. He arose to receive them, smiling strangely. 

“ Hartson, as I live,” said the new earl, holding out 
his right hand. “ You haven’t changed much in twenty 
years, Hartson, any more than I have done.” 

The lawyer, a keen-eyed, grizzled man, of unusual 
shrewdness and sagacity, and of proved integrity and 
devotion to the house of Charlewick, as his father had 
been before him, bent a close, searching scrutiny upon 
the dark, Spanish face of the stranger. The sinister eyes 
met his with a mocking expression, yet with the old 
familiar glance he remembered. There was no room 
for the smallest possible doubt. This man was the mis- 
sing elder son of the earl, come back after a mysterious 
absence of twenty years. The lawyer sighed heavily 
and did not refuse his hand in greeting to the returned 
heir. 

“ It is really Lord Odo Charlton,” he said, in a de- 
pressed voice. “ We thought you dead, sir. Why did 
you never write to your noble father during all these 
years ? Where have you been ?” 

“ I am no witness at the bar to be cross-questioned, 
Hartson,” said the new earl, with a shade of haughti- 
ness. “ Nor have I chosen you to be my father-confes- 
sor. And yet,” he added, “ I may as well tell you that I 
have spent the last twenty years in South America. I 
saw in an English paper, now three months old, a notice 
of my father’s serious illness. I concluded to return to 
England to look after my rights. I did not care to come 
before, for my father had cast me off, refusing to even 
see me, or communicate with me. What then should I 
have gained by an earlier return to England ?” 


TERRIBLE QUESTIONS ARISING. 


47 


“ But you went so suddenly, my lord,” said Hartson. 
“ Your clothes, your dressing-case, your chambers, all 
seemed to show that your departure was not intended.” 

“ That was well-planned by me,” said the new earl, 
with a dark smile. “ My father had chosen to cast me 
off, and I desired him to think I had been murdered, 
until such time as I might choose to return and reveal 
myself. The explanation of the mystery is simple, is it 
not ?” 

It was the lawyer’s private opinion that the mystery 
had not been fully explained, and that the last twenty 
years of Lord Odo Charlton’s life held secrets which 
might never be revealed, but these did not concern him 
or Lord Ronald, and the identity of the returned heir 
could not be doubted. He was the earl in his father’s 
stead, and Lord Ronald was still Lord Ronald Charl- 
ton, nothing more. 

Mrs. Partlet appeared at the door to announce that 
the earl’s rooms were ready. The still atmosphere of 
the chamber, the presence of death there, were not pleas- 
ant to the new Lord Charlewick. He went away to the 
rooms prepared for him. 

He was astir early upon the following morning, going 
over the house and grounds before breakfast. After 
breakfast, he ordered a horse, and rode over the home 
estate. He superintended the preparations for the fu- 
neral. He ordered Graham, the land-steward, to bring 
over his books for his — the earl’s — perusal. He openly 
exulted in his new dignities, and made not the faintest 
pretence of regret for the death of his father, or show 
of respect for his memory. He* openly declared that 
there had been no love lost between him and his parent, 
and that he should not become a hypocrite, and pretend 
to an affection he did not feel. 

The body of the venerable earl lay in state at Charle- 


48 


TERRIBLE QUESTIONS ARISING. 


wick-le-Grand during the six days that followed his 
death. During that period Lord Ronald and the new 
earl met frequently, but they did not become friends. 
The new peer regarded his nephew with aversion from 
the very first, and before the week had ended he had 
grown to hate him. And hatred with Odo, Earl of 
Charlewick, w T as not merely intensified dislike, that con- 
tents itself with scowling looks and unpleasant worde — 
it was with him a living passion, a volcano within his 
breast that seethed and burned until it should overflow 
in a terrible destruction. 

During these six days Miss Hellene had kept her own 
rooms, and the new earl had scarcely seen her. Lord 
Ronald spent hours with her daily in her boudoir, and 
their love strengthened in this dark hour of their mutual 
grief, becoming a strong and vital principle, which 
could die only with life itself. 

During this week, also, the story of the earl’s return 
had become bruited about England. The London 
newspapers rehearsed the tale of his disappearance, the 
theories concerning it, the suppositions that he had been 
murdered, and the honors and wealth to which he had 
succeeded. He was likely to become a lion in the social 
world. Curious neighbors called upon him. Old friends 
of the family sought him out, welcoming him back with 
unaffected kindness, seeking to forget his early faults 
and errors. 

He received them all in an overbearing, supercilious 
manner, stating that he had been in South America 
during the years of his mysterious absence, and openly 
evincing his satisfaction in his newly-acquired honors, 
exhibiting no show of respect whatever for the late 
earl’s memory. He found a few to flatter and fawn upon 
him, but the friends of the family and most of the 
county families were disgusted with his conduct, and 


TERRIBLE QUESTIONS ARISING. 


49 


exceedingly cautious about forming an intimacy with 
him. 

The earl was buried in state at the parish church, and 
the funeral was attended by a large concourse of 
friends. 

After the last ceremonies, when the body had been 
consigned to the tomb, the new earl returned to Charle- 
wick-le -Grand alone in his carriage. Lord Ronald 
Charlton, attended by Mr. Hartson, followed in the 
second carriage. They drove up to the grand old man- 
sion a little later than the earl, and were met at the door 
by the hall porter, who said : 

“ My lord has given orders that you are to go to the 
library, Lord Ronald. His lordship will see }^ou and 
Mr. Hartson immediately.” 

Lord Ronald led the way to the library. 

It was a lofty apartment of great length, with three 
gigantic bay windows, one at each end and one at the 
side. The immense lines of books reached nearly to the 
ceiling along nearly one entire side. There were long 
tables laden with maps, charts, atlasses, and globes. 
There were writing-desks and writing-tables, easy-chairs 
and swing-chairs, couches and cushions — everything to 
tempt a student to its quiet recesses. The colors of the 
carpet and upholstery were dark, rich, and quiet, and a 
peaceful, restful atmosphere pervaded the place. 

The late earl had been in the habit of spending most 
of his time here among his books. With a sudden emo- 
tion, as memories of hours spent here with his grand- 
father smote upon him, Lord Ronald Charlton went to 
one of the windows, with a quivering lip. 

Mr. Hartson sat down at one of the tables. 

“ I forgot to tell you, Lord Ronald,” he said, “ but all 
the servants in a body have given warning. The new 
earl discharged the housekeeper and butler this morn- 


50 


TERRIBLE QUESTIONS ARISING. 


ing, and the under-servants refuse to stay. The new 
earl begins his reign at Charlewick-le-Grand after a 
stormy fashion.” 

“It will be hard for Mrs. Partlet and Delaney, the 
butler, ”said Lord Ronald, not looking around. “They 
were born on the estate, the parents of both of them 
having been confidential upper-servants here before 
them. I know they suffer at the prospect of leaving the 
dear old house. They came to me last evening, Hart- 
son, but I could not comfort them. I shall have a little 
home of my own somewhere, and at some time, I dare 
say, and then I may be able to take them into my ser- 
vice. I suppose my dismissal from Charlewick is coming 
now.” 

Harston’s face flushed. 

“Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “The earl will never 
turn you out of the place that you’ve been taught to 
believe would be your own. Why, you were looked 
upon as the future earl. He cannot outrage decency so 
far as to send you away from your rightful homeT 

“ You know better than that, Hartson,” said Lord 
Ronald, quietly. “ You know that Odo, Earl of Charle- 
wick, is likely to scruple at nothing.” 

“ Yes, I know it,” sighed the lawyer. “Speak to him 
gently, Lord Ronald, when he comes. His enmity to 
you would be deadly. Besides, your presence here is es- 
sential to Miss Clair. What will become of her in his 
house without a friend ?” 

“ I have thought of that. She must go to her father.” 

“Her father is a villain,” said the lawyer, emphati- 
cally. “ He is poor ; she is rich. I know that Lord 
Clair will not permit his daughter to marry you in your 
changed circumstances. And I know also that the earl 
has fallen in love with Miss Clair.” 

Lord Ronald turned around with a start. 


TERRIBLE QUESTIONS ARISING. 


51 


“ Impossible, Hartson !” he exclaimed. “ She has re- 
mained in her rooms ever since he came.” 

“ Nevertheless, he loves her. He encountered her in 
the upper hall this morning, and I chanced to witness 
the encounter. She passed him with a bow only, and 
he turned and looked after her with an expression of 
passionate admiration — more, with a determination to 
possess her. I read his resolution in his eyes. And he 
never set his heart on anything but that he got what he 
desired, by fair means or foul.” 

“ He won’t win Miss Clair.” 

“ Her father will sell her to him. Lord Ronald, this 
return of your uncle is a most unhappy piece of busi- 
ness. Poor Miss Clair ! Her father will prove her worst 
enemy while pretending to be her best friend. She 
will have no one to protect her or watch over her but 
you. Her mother was the rich Miss Vavasour, who was 
brought up by her great-grandmother, the great-great- 
grandmother of Miss Clair, and this aged lady must be 
nearly a hundred years old. This old Mrs. Vavasour 
never liked Lord Clair, and would never see young Miss 
Clair, your betrothed wife, and she hates his lordship as 
she might hate poison. I do not believe that old Mrs. 
Vavasour, if she has the mental and physical strength, 
would do aught to befriend Miss Clair in any strait, and 
I presume the venerable lady is in a complete dotage.” 

Before Lord Ronald could reply,. Odo, Earl of Charle- 
wick, entered the room. 

He was dressed in mourning, but his face w^as 
wreathed in sinister smiles, and there was a deep glow 
in his eyes that told of inward satisfaction. He bowed 
to Hartson, and bestowed a supercilious nod upon Lord 
Ronald. 

“ Did my father leave a will, Hartson ?” asked the 
earl, abruptly. “I can find no document answering 


52 


TERRIBLE QUESTIONS ARISING. 


such description among his private papers, and yet he 
possessed immense freehold estates.” 

“ He made no will, my lord. On that last day, at a 
late hour, he reflected upon the possibility of your re- 
turn, and sent a messenger to urge me to hasten to him. 
He wanted me to make a will bequeathing his freehold 
estates to his grandson, Lord Ronald Charlto#n.” 

“ Indeed ! If he desired to provide for his grandson, 
he should have done so at an earlier period. But on 
whose authority do you state this intention of my late 
father? He did not tell his messenger what he wanted 
of you. I presume your informant was Lord Ronald 
himself ; and as he is the one who would have been 
benefited by such a will, his testimony is valueless. I 
cannot believe this late-told tale.” 

Lord Ronald restrained the answer that rose to his 
lips. 

“•Your nephew is the soul of truth and honor, my 
lord,” said Hartson, “and Miss Clair can corroborate his 
testimony. Does it seem reasonable that the earl should 
leave his beloved grandson a beggar, or that after the 
idea came to him of your possible return that he should 
not make provision for his future? Pardon me, but I 
trust that your lordship will carry out the wishes of the 
late earl, and provide for your nephew.” 

“ If my father, who knew him so well, did not provide 
for him, you need not expect me to do so,” said the earl, 
brusquely. “ I believe the youth has some five hundred 
pounds a year which he receives through his mother. 
Why, that ought to be a fortune to him. He can marry 
some nice girl, and settle down upon a country place in 
virtue and happiness.” 

“ My lord,” said Lord Ronald, “ you know that I am 
to marry Miss Clair. Be good enough, therefore, not to 
lose sight of that fact in planning my future.” 


TERRIBLE QUESTIONS ARISING. 


53 


Lord Charlewick’s face darkened. 

“ You can’t marry Miss Ciair now that you are poor,” 
he observed, harshly. “ If you did not release her of 
your own will, her father would not permit her to give 
herself to a fortune-hunter. Yes, that is it. In continuing 
your suit to her, you stigmatize yourself as a fortune- 
hunter. Let me tell you, young man, the day of your 
glory is over. Miss Clair will be Countess of Charlewick, 
but not as your wife. Understand.” 

“ I do understand, but you will find yourself mis- 
taken.” 

“ We’ll see about that. Miss Clair’s father likes me, 
and I prefer his friendship even to hers, since he is now 
her legal guardian. I have written to him, inviting him 
to come here. In fact, I wrote the day after my arrival, 
and he will be here to-day. I shall pay his debts and he 
will give me*his daughter to wife. What have you to say 
to that ?” 

“ That you will scheme in vain. Miss Clair will be true 
to me.” 

“We’ll see,” said the earl, with an evil glance. “You 
do not know the pressure that will be brought to bear 
on your lady-love. But why do I waste speech upon 
you ? I have only to say that I desire you to take your 
departure from Charlewick within the hour. This house 
has ceased to be your home.” 

“ My lord—” 

“ Not a word, Hartson, or you cease to be my solic- 
itor,” said the earl. 

“ I have served your father long and faithfully, my 
ford,” said Hartson, turning pale, “but I cannot serve 
you. I beg you to bestow your business upon some one 
else.” 

“ Then begone with )^our noble protege !” exclaimed 
the earl, furiously. “ If you are in this house till evening, 


54 


A WELL-MATCHED COUPLE. 


or if you attempt to see Miss Clair, Lord Ronald Charl- 
ton, I’ll have you expelled from the place by one of the 
footmen. Go !” 

Lord Ronald bowed calmly, and moved toward the 
door. Although commanding his own spirit so nobly, it 
must not be supposed that he was insensible to the in- 
sults that had been heaped upon him. He was angry, 
but he would not allow his enemy to see his anger. 

Hartson arose to follow the young lord. 

They passed into the hall in silence, and in time to 
witness an important arrival. A carriage had drawn up 
at the door, and a gentleman had alighted from it, and 
was ascending the house-steps to the open doors. 

“It’s Lord Clair,” said Hartson. “Your misfor- 
tunes have all come at once, Lord Ronald. Your enemies 
will combine against you and Miss Clair. And you are 
helpless !” 


CHAHTER V. 

A WELL-MATCHED COUPLE. 

Before Lord Ronald Charlton could address himself 
to the new-comer, if such were his impulse, the library 
door opened behind him, and the new Earl of Charle- 
wick peered out with a glance of suspictous inquiry. 
His lordship became at once aware of the arrival, and 
came out into the hall, his swarthy face overspread with 
a sinister glow, and his hands outstretched in welcome. 

“ I have the pleasure of receiving Lord Clair, have I 
not ?” he asked, meeting his guest just within the portal. 
“ I am the Earl of Charlewick,” he continued, as the 
stranger bowed assent to his interrogatory. “Welcome, 
my dear baron — welcome to Charlewick-le-Grand.” 


A WELL-MATCHED COUPLE. 


55 


The new-comer and the earl shook hands warmly. 

Lord Clair — for this was indeed the father of the 
youthful Miss Clair, Lord Ronald’s betrothed wife — 
was of medium height, massively built, and a very Fal- 
staff in his adipose development. It c'ould be seen at a 
glance that his chief object in life was the gratification 
of his appetite — that his highest aspiration was for a 
good dinner. He possessed a high, narrow, prominent 
forehead, which became an imposing feature by reason 
of his baldness, giving his forehead the appearance of 
extending to the back of his head. The hair upon his 
head consisted of a heavy, grayish fringe surrounding 
its base, but he wore heavy side-whiskers of the “mutton 
chop” style, of luxuriant growth, and also of grayish 
color. His eyes, of a pale, steely gray, were screened by 
eye-glasses, He was fashionably dressed. His manners 
were those of a Chesterfiefd, but there was an air of 
coldness and insincerity about him that struck unpleas- 
antly upon Lord Ronald. 

“Come with me into the library, baron,” said the eari, 
with effusive politeness, completely ignoring the near 
presence of his nephew, and Hartson, the lawyer. “ I 
will show you to your room as soon as I shall have had 
a few words with you in private.” 

Lord Clair yielded courteous assent, and followed his 
host into the department designated. Before the door 
could close behind them, Lord Ronald Charlton sprang 
forward impetuously and passed into the library also. 
Unheeding the black scowl of his uncle, our hero ad- 
vanced toward the baron, holding out his hand. 

“ Permit me to greet you also, Lord Clair,” he said, 
“although I have not the right fo welcome you here, I 
am Lord Ronald Charlton.” 

“ Ah, yes, Lord Ronald,” said the baron, yielding his 
fat hand to the young man somewhat reluctantly. 


56 


A WELL-MATCHED COUPLE. 


“Glad to see you, I’m sure. Melancholy bereavement, 
but must me resigned — course of nature, you know.” 

“ I have met with more than an ordinary bereavement, 
sir,” said Lord Ronald, in a manly tone, “having lost 
my grandfather and fortune at one blow. But I have 
not lost Miss Clair’s love, and as you were so good as 
to give your free and full consent to our betrothal, I 
trust that I have not lost your favor also. Pardon me 
for introducing the subject so abruptly, my lord, and, 
believe me, that but for my many and pressing anxieties 
T should not have done so.” 

“Really,” said Lord Clair, in some embarassment, “ I 
must have time to think. You are indeed abrupt, Lord 
Ronald. Give me time for consideration. As a father, 
it becomes me to decide nothing hastily. Hellene’s wel- 
fare for life must not be imperilled through the hot- 
headed impulsiveness of youth. Be assured that, as her 
father and guardian, I shall consult her best interests.” 

Lord Ronald knew already that his case was hopeless, 
and his face was paler as he bowed and said calmly : 

“ I am going to the inn at Little Charlewick. I shall 
remain there some days since the doors of this house are 
henceforth closed against me, and I hope that your lord- 
ship will do me the honor to call upon me and make 
known to me your final decision.” 

He bowed again courteously, without glancing at his 
black-browed, scowling uncle, and went out, rejoining 
Hartson. The two walked slowly along the hall 
together. 

“ I am afraid that my poor grandfather’s presentiment 
of evil to Miss Clair and me is approaching fulfillment,” 
said Lord Ronald, sighing. “ So far as those two men 
in the library can separate us, or work us evil, they will 
do it.” 

Hartson echoed the sigh. He had never liked Lord 


A WELL-MATCHED COUPLE. 


57 


Odo Charlton, and, like every one else, he had looked 
upon Lord Ronald as the future Earl of Charlewick. 
He was deeply attached to Ronald, knowing him to be 
of pure and noble nature, brave, generous, truthful, and 
the soul of honor. 

“ The earl is your enemy, Lord Ronald,” he said, in a 
low tone. “He has all the wealth and power in his 
hands, and you are poor. What will you do ?” 

“ I do not know yet, Hartson.” 

“ Shall you give up Miss Clair ?” 

“ Never, except at her own bidding.” 

The old lawyer’s soul felt a warm thrill of sympathy 
with the deposed heir. He said : 

“ Lord Ronald, I would like to have a good talk with 
you. I have ceased to be the Charlewick solicitor, and 
I shall constitute myself, with your permission, your 
legal adviser. When can I see you alone ?” 

“About two hours hence at the Little Charlewick inn,” 
replied Lord Ronald. “ I will meet you there. I am 
going now to explain to Miss Clair what has happened, 
and to say good-by.’ ’ 

After a moment’s further colloquy, Lord Ronald as- 
cended the stairs and made his way to Miss Clair’s 
boudoir. 

Mr. Hartson set out upon a stroll through the park in 
the direction of the village of Little Charlewick, having 
taken his final leave of the mansion. 

Meanwhile, the earl and the baron were arriving at a 
mutual understanding. 

They had ensconced themselves together in the recess 
of one of the bay-windows, and were deep in conversation. 

“Where is Hellene?” inquired the baron, when pre- 
liminary observations had been exchanged and the earl 
had been congratulated in regard to his accession to his 
new dignities. 


58 


A WELL -MATCHED COUPLE. 


“ Pardon me, my dear baron,” said Lord Charlewick, 
“ but Miss Clair has no knowledge nor expectation of 
your coming. She is in her own chamber, mourning 
over my father’s death and over the misfortunes of Lord 
Ronald Charlton.” 

“ I scarcely understood your letter, my lord,” said the 
baron, reflectively, keeping a furtive watch upon the 
swarthy face of his host. “ I was in Paris when I re- 
ceived it, and the news of the earl’s death had been 
already announced in Galignani , together with the fact 
of your return. I comprehended that portion of your 
communication which referred to my debts. You dis- 
tinctly offered to pay them and make me a free man 
once more.” 

“Upon condition, baron — upon condition.” 

“ Certainly, ‘ upon condition ’ — but what condition ?” 

“ That you will give me your daughter to wife,” said 
the earl, boldly. 

“ So I interpreted the letter,” remarked Lord Clair. 
“ And under the impression that you and I could come 
to terms, I accepted your invitation to visit you, and am 
here. You are aware, doubtless, of my pecuniary em- 
barrasments. My estates are mortgaged to their full 
value. I live abroad because I am unable to live in 
England, and because also this beastly climate does not 
agree with me ; but the former reason is, as you may 
suppose, of the most weight. I should like to live as 
becomes a man of my rank and connections, and to be 
free to live in England. My daughter has a vast fortune 
inherited from her mother, formerly ‘ the rich Miss 
Vavasour.’ I cannot touch the principal of my daugh- 
ter’s money, but I can induce her to share with me her 
magnificent income, I do not doubt.” 

“Until Miss Clair marries Lords Ronald Charlton,” 
suggested the earl, with a faint sneer. “ My nephew 


A WELL -MATCHED COUPLE. 


59 


has an income of five hundred pounds a year. You con- 
sented to his betrothal to your daughter in the days of 
his great expectations. Naturally, in his poverty he will 
hold you to your promise !” 

The baron’s sallow face flushed. 

“ I shall not sacrifice my daughter to a begger,” he 
observed, “ and no one — not even Lord Ronald — can seri- 
ously expect me to do so. He’s a rash, impetuous 
young' fellow, if not worse. I do not wish to offend you, 
Lord Charlewick, but I cannot refrain from saying that 
Lord Ronald’s attempt to hold me to my promise causes 
me to regard him in the light of a fortune-hunter. But 
I won’t be held to a promise given under totally differ- 
ent circumstances.” 

“You need not fear to offend me in talking against 
Ronald,” said the earl. “ My acquaintance with him 
has been brief, but sufficient. I don’t like him.” 

“ Oh, indeed,” said Lord Clair. “ Of course, as you 
are the head of your family, your condemnation of him 
is decisive. How much money has he ?” 

A paltry five hundred a year in the consols. He’ll 
have to go into the army, or a profession, or live on his 
wife’s money. Probably the last proposition would suit 
him best.” 

“ He’ll not live on my daughter’s money — and leave 
me out in the cold,” said Lord Clair, hastily. “ As a 
parent, I have a voice in this matter, and I shall not per- 
mit my daughter to fall into the hands of a fortune- 
nunter.” 

“Certainly not,” said the earl. “You are now her 
legal guardian, and by every right, human and divine, 
should possess an absolute control over her destiny. As 
my nephew’s claims upon Miss Clair are thus disposed 
of, I offer myself as a suitor for her hand.” 

“ How does she regard you, my lord ?” 


60 


A WELL MATCHED COUPLE. 


“ She has scarcely seen me. I presume Ronald has 
Infected her with his dislike of me. He believed me 
dead, and looked upon himself as prospective Earl of 
Charlewick. Naturally, he is savage at my appearance, 
and has prejudiced her against me.” 

“ May I ask your motives in desiring to marry my 
daughter, Lord Charlewick ?” inquired the baron. “ You 
have scarcely seen her, as you acknowledge. Surely, you 
do not love her ?” 

“ My motives are various,” replied the earl. “ I have 
come into a high position, peer of the realm, and all 
that, you know. Were I to die without issue, my de- 
tested nephew would realize his dreams and become 
Earl of Charlewick after me. Now I don’t intend that 
he shall benefit by my death. In the next place, I desire 
to marry for the sake of- the effect marriage will have 
upon my position. I was formerly somewhat wild, and 
the old reputation may cling to me unless I take a wife 
to preside over my household. In short, I have many 
good reasons for marrying.” 

“ But you have not told me why you have fixed your 
mind upon my daughter, Charlewick ?” 

“My reasons for choosing her are as various as my 
motives for marrying. In the first place, she is of noble 
birth, and that is the first requisite. I would not marry 
a Venus if she w r ere low-born, or even out of the upper 
middle classes. My wife must be of noble birth. She 
must be wealthy in her own right. Fortune should 
marry fortune. She must be beautiful. She must be 
my opposite in all things. She must be young also. I 
find all these requisites united in Miss Clair. I am 
strongly attracted toward her. I admire blonde women, 
and Miss Clair is fair as a lily. I dare say, with my 
old reputation clinging to me, I might find it difficult to 
marry as I would like if I were to let slip this present 


A WELL-MATCHED COUPLE. 


61 


opportunity, and I know I can never be better suited 
than with Miss Clair. I will play the suitor to her after 
the usual fashion. Should she refuse to marry me, you 
will Use your persuasions, your authority even, if nec- 
essary. And on the day she becomes my wife, baron, I 
will present you with the mortgages of your estates, 
leaving you in full and clear possession of a handsome, 
unincumbered rent-roll. Shall we call this a bargain ?” 

Lord Clair’s eyes brightened. He had not expected 
such remuneration for his services. Yet he would not 
seem to yield too readily to the earl’s propositions. He 
said, reflectively : 

“ Before our compact is signed and sealed, as we may 
say, let us speak further of yourself, Charlewick. As 
Hellene’s father, it behooves me to know something more 
about you than the merest stranger knows. Twenty 
years ago you disappeared mysteriously and abruptly, 
and were popularly believed to have been murdered. 
Now you reappear just as abruptly, coming from no one 
knows whither. What has been the secret of your 
twenty years of silence ? Where have you been ? What 
have you been doing ?” 

The earl’s swarthy face flushed, and he forced a strange 
laugh. 

“ I must say to you, as I have said to others, that I 
ran away in a fit of pique at my father,” he replied, in a 
constrained voice. “ The truth is, my father disowned 
me and cast me off. I was at the end of my mother’s 
fortune. I would not humble myself to my father, and 
enact the return of the prodigal son. I had a taste for 
adventure, and I went in search of it. I arranged that 
I should be thought murdered, intending that my father 
should think me dead until I chose to reappear. I flat- 
ter myself that I was successful. I was universally be- 
lieved to be dead.” 


62 


A WELL-MATCHED COUPLE. 


“ And where were you during all those twenty years ?” 

“ I was in South America,” said the earl, still in that 
constrained voice. “I did as adventurous young En- 
glishmen do under like circumstances. I hunted on 
the great Llanos, and learned to use the lasso like a 
native ; I penetrated into the dense forests ; I sailed up 
the royal Amazon ; in brief, my life for twenty years 
was one wild series of adventures which, were I to re- 
late them, would seem improbable.” 

“No doubt,” said the baron, and the earl fancied a 
certain dryness in his manner. “ What part of South 
America were you in ?” 

“The Brazils. Does the story of my career seem im- 
probable ? It is parelleled by that of the earl of Aber- 
deen, who wandered away, became a common sailor be- 
fore the mast, and was lost at sea while employed on an 
American vessel. It is paralleled by the famous Tich- 
borne case, Roger Tichborne wandering to South Amer- 
ica, and thence to Australia, becoming a companion of 
working people, and himself a laboring man, while his 
family were loaded with wealth. It is paralleled by the 
famous — ” 

“ Enough,” said Lord Clair. “ It is not necessary to 
recall every cause celebre of the past ten years. Young 
Englishmen affect eccentricity, and delight in strange 
adventure, as witness the crowds who go to Africa and 
America on hunting expeditions ; who risk their lives in 
yachts ; who paddle continental rivers in canbes ; who 
climb the Alps, delighting in the most nearly inaccessi- 
ble peaks, and exulting in toil and danger. Young 
people seem to lack sense now-a-days, meaning no 
offence to you, Charlewick. I suppose your hot Spanish 
blood could not endure the tameness of life in England, 
and you preferred toil, spiced with perils, rather than 
become a suitor of money-lenders. By the by, I know 


A WELL-MATCHED COUPLE. 


63 


a fellow who has just come from Brazil. I met him in 
Paris last week. He is a Wennark, of the Suffolk family 
of Wennarks, a capital fellow, actually been in business 
in Rio, and made his fortune. Been out there five-and- 
twenty years. Told me he Jiad kept track of every 
Englishman who had been in Brazil since he went out 
there. He was always anxious to see his countrymen, 
and hunted them up invariably. You know him, of 
course. Not to know Wennark would be to argue 
Brazil unknown to you.” 

The baron’s furtive glance at the earl became the 
keen, watchful gaze of a hawk upon his intended prey. 

The earl averted his face as he answered, in some 
confusion : 

“I may have met the fellow. I saw plenty of English- 
men out there, but I chose to avoid my countrymen.” 

“ Wennark is a mighty Nimrod also,” persisted the 
baron. “ He has hunted on the Llanos, and can hurl a 
lasso with the grace and precision of a Spanish-Amerfcan 
vaquero , or puncho. I should like to hear you and him 
discuss wild hunting adventures, and to see you and him 
exhibit your skill in lassoing one of your tame herd in 
vour park. It would be grand sport. I beg you will in- 
vite Wennark, as my friend, to visit you.” 

“ It is impossible,” said the earl, stiffly. “ I am not 
fond of strangers. Besides, so soon after my father’s 
death, such exhibitions of skill, and such a guest at 
Charlewick-le-Grand, would be in the worst possible 
taste. Let us dismiss the subject, or rather return to 
the original subject from which we have wandered.” 

An odd sort of smile played about the fat lips of Lord 
Clair. He had evidently formed conclusions from the 
result of his latest interrogations, but, if so, he was too 
shrewd to declare them. 

“ Very well, Charlewick,” he assented. “ Yet one word 


64 A WELL-MATCHED COUPLE. 

more before I make the compact you desire. You are 
half Spanish, and the Spanish are fierce in love as in 
hate. I am not a fond father, I own, but I should like 
to know something more about you before I agree to 
give Hellene to you as your wife. Have you ever loved ? 
Have you ever been married ?” 

The earl’s cheeks reddened to vividest scarlet. 

“ I have loved before a hundred times,” he said, with 
a strange laugh. “ I have had many fancies. It would 
be singular if I had reached my present age without ex- 
periencing a touch of the tender passion. But I was 
never married. I have too much pride to marry one 
inferior to me in birth, connections, and social position, 
and until now I have never been able to marry one my 
equal in these respects.” 

Lord Charlewick met the baron’s eyes with a frank, 
open gaze that completely extinguished any doubts, or 
suspicious the latter might have formed in regard to the 
matter. 

“ Pardon me, my dear Charlewick,” said the baron, 
“ A father cannot be too careful where his daughter’s 
happiness is concerned, and this must be my excuse. I 
am satisfied.” 

“ And you agree to give me the hand of Miss Clair in 
marriage ?” 

“ I do upon the conditions already proposed.” 

“ And if she refuses to marry me ?” 

“ I am her lawful guardian,” said the baron ; “ besides, 
I am her father. She shall obey me, if I have to force 
her into obedience, although that alternative will not 
need to be resorted to, let us hope. It is a bargain. 
You shall clear off the mortgages on my estates, and I 
will give you my daughter.” 

The two confederates shook hands upon their bar- 
gain. 


A WELL-MATCHED COUPLE. 


65 


“ After all,” said Lord Clair, after a brief pause, “ we 
are carrying out the original programme, with a change 
only in the leading character. Hellene was to have 
married the Earl of Charlewick — or the heir of Charle- 
wick ; it’s much the same — and she shall marry the Earl 
of Charlewick.” 

“ Lord Ronald may prove a strong obstacle in the 
way,” suggested the earl. “ He’ll be hanging about the 
place, seeking interviews with her, and they may choose 
to make a stolen marriage.” 

“ I shall have an interview with Hellene. If she 
proves refractory, I will remove her secretly out of Lord 
Ronald’s reach,” remarked the baron “ I have my share 
of finesse, believe me. It is important that I see 
Hellene at once. I want to see what sort of woman she 
is developed into, and if I am to find her a plastic 
material in my hands. I have a few changes to make in 
my toilet. If you will be good enough to summon a 
servant to show me to my room, I shall be obliged to 
you.” 

The earl volunteered to perform the office, and accord- 
ingly conducted his guest up stairs to one of the state- 
chambers of the mansion. After a few more words, he 
left him here to himself, promising to return for him in 
half an hour, to conduct him to Miss Clair’s boudoir. 

The baron’s luggage was in his dressing-room, and 
every appliance for his toilet was at hand. As he care- 
fully combed out his long side-whiskers, he said to him- 
self : 

“ This is a fine opening for me. I see my way straight 
to fortune. The tears and pleadings or rebellion of a 
puling girl shall not affect my resolution. Hellene shall 
marry this present Earl of Charlewick — -I swear it. I 
am satisfied that he has never really loved, and has never 
married. But what is this mystery surrounding him? 


66 


MISS POWYS AND EDDA. 


Where does he come from ? It’s all moonshine, his hav- 
ing been in South America. He has never seen Brazil. 
All he knows of Llanos and lassoing he’s read in books. 
But where has he been all these years ? What is his 
secret? I shall keep faith with him — but I shall also 
devote myself to solving the mystery of his life. Now 
for Hellene.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

MISS POWYS AND EDDA. 

The boudoir into which Mrs. Catharine Priggs, Miss 
Powys’s own maid, ushered Edda Brend was untenanted 
at the moment of their entrance. Bidding the intruder 
be seated, Mrs. Priggs entered an adjoining room, clos- 
ing the door behind her. 

Edda did not sit down. Expectation thrilled every 
nerve of her being. Strange emotions thronged upon 
her. Despite her characteristic coolness and self-con- 
fidence, she had a warm heart and quick sympathies, 
and she had all her life cherished dreams of an ideal 
mother. She had believed her mother dead, but in the 
lonely nights, in her long tramps by day over the wild 
Yorkshire moor, she had dreamed of her mother and 
clothed her memory with all the virtues, had thought of 
her, had speculated about her, had wept for hen And 
now, as she believed, her mother lived — only a house- 
wall was between them, perhaps. A moment more, and 
she would stand face to face with her mother ! 

Knowing the girl’s capability of intense feeling, one 
would have looked to see the dark, bright face glow with 
tenderness and yearning. Not so. Edda’s beautiful 


MISS POWYS AND EDDA. 


67 


face grew stern as she looked around her, and her lips 
curled in bitterest scorn. 

She had been supplied with accomplished governesses, 
with a piano, books, and all educational appliances, but 
her life had been barren of luxury, and she had a strange 
adoration of beauty. Her own room at Racket Hall, with 
its white-washed walls, bare deal floor, and simple iron 
bedstead, would have served for an anchorite’s cell. No 
pictures had ever adorned it until she had grown old 
enough to supply the lack through the exercise of her 
own talent and skill. And those pictures, framed by her- 
self in some rustic fashion, only made\he poverty of the 
place more noticeable. 

But this boudoir of the banker’s daughter was a very 
nest of luxury. The carpet was woven in one piece, and 
was a sheet of pale blue velvet, unmarred by pattern or 
figure. Pale blue was the leading color throughout the 
room. There were low, carved book-cases, surmounted 
by marble busts of Clytie, Diana, Minerva ; the mantel- 
piece, of Carrara marble, was a work of art ; the walls 
were paneled with exquisite pictures ; the windows were 
half veiled in silk and lace ; there were tempting couches, 
great hollow chairs, embroidered cushions, a boudoir 
piano, and a host of elegancies of which Edda scarcely 
knew the name. 

Her heart swelled in increasing bitterness. Was this 
her mother’s room ? Had her mother fared sumptuously, 
and lived like a princess, while she — the daughter — had 
been lodged like a peasant, had grown up unloved among 
strangers, had been turned adrift on the world to shift 
for herself ? 

“No, no,” she said to herself, “this Miss Powys is not 
my mother. There is some mistake. But if she were,” 
and the proud face grew paler and sterner, “ then I know 


68 


MISS POWYS AND EDDA. 


that I have no right to my existence — that shame and 
sorrow are my heritage !” 

The door through which Mrs. Priggs had departed 
opened again, there was a faint stir in the inner room, 
and a lady came out into the boudoir, advancing with a 
rare imperial grace toward the intruder. 

This lady, as Edda intuitively divined, was Miss 
Powys. 

She was younger than Edda had supposed her, and it 
must have required a bold imagination indeed to see in 
this stately beauty any resemblance to the “ shy, shrink- 
ing, little Mrs. Brend,” of Racket Hall experience. 

This lady looked about eight-and-twenty years of age, 
was tall and stately, with a dazzling blonde beauty. Her 
yellow hair was creped lightly, after the prevailing fashion. 
Her eyes were noticeable, being not blue, as one would 
have expected, but a deep, tender gray, full of light and 
glow, varying with sudden shadows. She was dressed 
in a trained morning-robe of white sheer fabric, made 
with multitudinous puffs, frills, embroideries, and falls 
of costly lace. She dawned upon the bewildered York- 
shire girl like a being of another world. For the moment 
Edda would as soon have ventured on claiming relation- 
ship with an angel of light as with this proud and haughty 
belle. 

Mrs. Priggs followed her mistress at a respectful dis- 
tance, and essayed a sort of introduction of the visitor to 
Miss Powys. 

“ If you please, Miss,” she said, “ this is the young girl. 
She says her name is Edda Brend, and she’s from York- 
shire. She wished to see you on particular business. 
Miss Brend, I present you to Miss Powys.” 

Edda bowed stiffly. 

“You may leave us, Priggs,” said Miss Powys, in a 
voice as sweet and clear as a flute, and which thrilled 


MISS POWYS AND EDDA. 


69 


Edda strangely. “ Remain in the next room within 
call.” 

Mrs. Priggs retired to the inner room, leaving the 
door of communication ajar. 

Miss Powys came still nearer Edda, and now bestowed 
upon her a full, long look. The scanty, old-fashioned 
dress ; the jaunty little sailor hat tilted far back upon 
Edda’s boyish head ; the head itself covered with close- 
clustering ringlets of jetty blackness ; the dark, saucy 
face, so bright, so sweet, so witching ; the jetty eyes, soft 
as velvet, and full of piquancy ; the red, pouting lips ; 
the countenance set with a strange sternness in odd 
contrast to the piquant features : not one item of all 
these escaped the close, keen scrutiny of Miss Powys. 
And as for Edda, she returned the gaze with an inten- 
sity that indicated her desire to probe the very soul of 
the banker’s daughter. 

But the deep gray eyes did not blench ; the lovely 
blonde face did not change color ; and no tenderness — 
no embarassment even — was apparent in the lady’s 
manner. 

“ Be seated, Miss Brend,” said Miss Powys, with habit- 
ual courtesy. “ May I inquire to what I owe the honor 
of this visit ?” 

She indicated a chair to her guest, but Edda rejected 
the courtesy as silently. 

“ Certainly, Miss Powys,” she answered, in a voice as 
clear and sweet as that of the lady, and curiously like it 
in flexibility, yet unlike it in possessing a certain bitter- 
ness she could not repress, “ I came to you because I 
have nowhere else to go. ‘Mrs. Catherine’ having 
failed to make her annual appearance at Racket Hall 
last year and this, a state of general bankruptcy has 
supervened. Mr. Nizbit owes two years’ rent, and has 
been ejected from the house. He gave me five pounds 


70 


MISS POWYS AND EDDA. 


in money, and turned me adrift, telling me to come to 
you.” 

“ But really, this is most singular,” said Miss Powys, 
in a puzzled tone, knitting her white brows. “ Mr. Niz- 
bit ! Racket Hall ! What names are these ?” 

“ Perhaps you remember them better in your charac- 
ter of ‘ Mrs. Brend,’ ” said Edda, with keen sarcasm. “ I 
hardly expected Miss Powys to remember them.” 

The lady’s cheek flushed a little. She sat down, again 
motioning Edda to a seat. And again Edda silently re- 
fused to sit down. 

“ Why should this Mr. Nizbit send you to me, Miss 
Brend ?” inquired Miss Powys. “I have an extensive 
reputation for benevolence, but I should hardly expect 
my fame to reach the wilds of Yorkshire.” 

“ Why do you affect this ignorance of me ?” demanded 
Edda, impatiently, losing her awe of Miss Powys in her 
rising indignation and anger. “You know all that I 
have already told ‘ Mrs. Catherine,’ your maid. You 
know that Mr. Nizbit tracked the woman to London — 
to this house. He saw you upon the evening of that 
day leave this house and enter a carriage with your 
father. That was nine years ago. You had changed 
since he first saw you, twelve years before, but he felt 
that you were the same woman with Mrs. Brend.” 

“ And who, may I ask, is Mrs. Brend ?” 

Edda was silent a moment, studying the fair, puzzled 
face before her. 

“ Is it necessary for me to tell you,” she said, “that 
Mrs. Brend was a woman who came some nineteen years 
ago to Racket Hall with her maid, in response to Mr. 
Nizbit’s advertisement for boarders or lodgers — that this 
Mrs. Brend was a mysterious person, claiming to be a 
widow, and that, a month after her appearance at Racket 
Hall, she gave birth to a living child ? Is it necessary to 


MISS POWYS AND EDDA. 


71 


tell you that when she went away from Racket Hall she 
left the child behind her like a piece of worn-out luggage ? 
Is it necessary for me to tell you that I believe you, Miss 
Powys, to be that Mrs. Brend, even as I am her forsaken 
child ?” 

The lady’s features quivered now, but whether with 
emotion or indignation who shall say ? 

“ You must be mad to talk like this to me,” she said, 
in a cold, hard voice. Do you understand who I am — 
my social position — my connections ? Do you know 
that I am Miss Powys — unmarried — and the mistress of 
my father’s house ? Your every word to me is an insult !” 

“It would seem so,” said Edda, dryly, “but is the 
fault mine ? Permit me to ask you a simple, straight- 
forward question, to which I demand a straight-for- 
ward answer. Are you my mother ?” 

There was a brief silence, Miss Powys averting her 
face, her form quivering, and even her white hand screen- 
ing her countenance trembling as with ague. 

Then again she answered in the same hard, cold voice 
as before : 

“Your audacity shocks me, Miss Brend. You are surely 
mad to claim me — me — as your mother ! Am I old 
enough to be your mother ? Is my position — But why 
reason with you ? I must decline the relationship you 
would thrust upon me in defiance of all the laws of pro- 
priety — of decency even. There is evidently some mys- 
tery in your origin — you have been, no doubt, the vic- 
tim of a shameless and heartless abandonment — but do 
not look upon me to fulfill towards you the role of 
mother. Your Mr. Nizbit seems to have misled you, 
whether willfully or otherwise. You will have to look 
elsewhere for your mother.” 

“ You will excuse the trouble I have made you, Miss 
Powys,” said the girl, with a stinging haughtiness, not 


72 


MISS POWYS AND EDDA. 


a whit less proud than that of the banker’s daughter. 
“ I am sorry to have troubled you. Permit me to wish 
you a good-morning.” 

She turned toward the door to depart. 

“ Stay !” said the lady, with a sudden and keen agi- 
tation. “ Where are you going ?” 

“ My movements cannot concern Miss Powys,” said 
Edda, coldly. “ You have been kind — extraordinarily 
so — to give me audience. But few ladies would have 
cared to hear the story of a country girl like me, fresh 
from the moors of Yorkshire. But my future cannot 
interest a total stranger.” 

“ You are so young, so beautiful,” murmured the lady. 
“ You have the innocent look of one who knows nothing 
of the world. Have you been long in London ?” 

“ I arrived this morning. My bundle is in your draw- 
ing-room below.” 

“ Have you friends in town ?” 

Edda’s lip curled scornfully. 

“ I have not a friend in the wide world, it seems,” she 
said. “ Mr. Nizbit has gone to reside with his niece, or 
is on his way to her house. I have had no governess 
for some months, there having been no money to pay 
her. I stand alone — as utterly friendless as any being 
on this broad earth, I think.” 

“ Then, tell me, where are you going now ?” 

“ Where ?” I cannot tell you. I don’t know myself. 
I have a little money — less than four pounds. I have 
health. I shall find work, perhaps. But what does all 
this matter to you ?” 

“ I cannot see an innocent young girl, unused to Lon- 
don, deliberately plunge into perils that may destroy 
her,” said Miss Powys, striving to speak calmly. “ Will 
you go to school, if some one should offer to pay your 
way ?” 


MISS POWYS AND EDDA. 


73 


“ Certainly not, Miss Powys. I have done with gov- 
ernesses. I will be dependent upon no one. But I am 
willing to teach, if I can procure a situation.” 

“ Would you go back to Racket Hall, if the rent were 
paid and a long lease taken, and a respectable income 
settled upon yourself?” asked Miss Powys. 

“ No. I have done with Racket Hall and Mr. Nizbit. 
And I will take charity from no one. All I have asked 
or desired is simple justice. Again I bid you good- 
morning.” 

“Stay !” again commanded Miss Powys, her features 
convulsed in a quick spasm of pain. “ I — I feel interested 
in you. You are different from London girls, and I 
fancy that I like that obstinate pride of yours. I can- 
not let you go forth from my house, not knowing what you 
will do. I know London, and you do not. I fear for you. 
I fear for any innocent country girl in this cruel town.” 

“ You must have a heart overflowing with tenderness 
to all mankind to care thus for a strange girl — one who 
has insulted you, too !” said Edda, in bitterest sarcasm. 
“ But you need not fear for me. Have I not been alone 
from my earliest infancy ? Have l ever known what it 
was to be loved ? Has any one — except possibly my 
governess — ever kissed me or caressed me ? You, in your 
gilded home, can know little of the poverty of a life like 
mine — to long for tenderness and never receive it, to 
yearn for a mother I believe to be dead, to be isolated 
always, to be to guardians a living mystery, upon the 
care of which their subsistence depended — this and 
nothing more. I was homeless, an orphan, and an out- 
cast from my birth. Certainly ‘ Mrs. Brend,’ wherever 
she may be, ought to be happy. She has saved herself 
at the expense of only her child.” 

Surely that was a sob that came from the bowed 
figure of the proud Miss Powys — a bitter, choking sob. 


74 A NEW ELEMENT OF DISCORD. 

But there was no pity, no surprise, no curiosity even, 
in the glance Edda bestowed upon the banker’s daughter. 
The willful little brunette was at her haughtiest now. 

Another brief silence, and Edda’s hand grasped the 
door-knob. Miss Powys started, arose, and said, with 
constrained calmness : 

“ I am touched at your history, Miss Brend. It is 
indeed a sorrowful one. I cannot permit you — since 
you have in a manner thrown yourself upon my hospi- 
tality — to go from this house until you can communicate 
with your guardian, Mr. Nizbit. You want something 
to do. I can never — understand me clearly — I can never 
stand to you in the relationship you would have claimed, 
but I believe you honest, innocent and good. I would 
like you to remain with me as my paid companion. Your 
duties shall be to read to me, to answer my notes of 
invitation, to accompany me in my drives and walks 
—and you will be treated as a lady by my household, 
and will be made to feel that this house is your home. 
Will you stay ?” 


CHAPTER VII. 

A NEW ELEMENT OF DISCORD. 

The proposition of Miss Powys took Edda entirely by 
surprise. She had not been prepared by what had 
passed for any kindness whatever from the banker’s 
daughter. ‘She was homeless, almost penniless, abso- 
lutely friendless. In all that vast metropolis she knew 
no one. And yet — will it be believed ? — she hesitated 
about accepting this safe and pleasant refuge offered to 
her, regarding the lady with a keen, suspicious gaze. 


A NEW ELEMENT OF DISCORD. 


75 


“Perhaps you do not fully understand my offer,” said 
Miss Powys, after a brief pause. “I do not offer you a 
menial position, Miss Brend, but one that many a re- 
duced young gentlewoman would be glad to accept. I 
would like to employ you as my companion, and your 
most onerous duties would be those I have mentioned, 
to read to me at times, to play and sing to me now and 
then, to write my orders to my tradesmen and milliners, 
to answer notes of invitations ; to take, in short, the 
position in this house which many younger daughters 
fill in gentlemen’s houses. You shall be treated with 
respect, shall drive daily with me in the park, shall have 
the use of a carriage when you desire it, shall have your 
hours of privacy, and I will pay you a salary, if you 
choose to call it that, of one hundred pounds a year. 
What is your answer ?” 

“ You take a singular interest in a perfect stranger, 
Miss Powys,” returned Edda, slowly. “ I come to you 
fresh from the Yorkshire moor, with a mystery cling- 
ing to me, and while you profess not to know who I am, 
to have never heard of Racket Hall and of Mr. Nizbit 
before, and to have no interest in me whatever beyond 
the ordinary claims of humanity, you yet offer me a 
home under your roof, a companionship with yourself, 
and the pleasures and privileges almost of a younger 
daughter of this house. Why do you not ask confirma- 
tion of my story ? Why do you not send for Mr. Nizbit 
to inquire about me ? Why take this exceptional inter- 
est in a young country girl of doubtful origin, of whose 
nature and disposition you can know nothing? Are 
fashionable ladies in London in the habit of picking up 
stray young women from the country, and making com- 
panions of them, without knowing anything whatever 
about them ?” 

The girl’s bitter sarcasm stung Miss Powys to a new 


76 


A NEW ELEMENT OF DISCORD. 


haughtiness. She made as if to speak, and then checked 
herself abruptly, her pale cheeks flushing. 

“ It is easy to see that you are unused to the world, 
Miss Brend,” she said, 'calmly, having obtained the mas- 
tery over herself ; “ and also to see that your nature is 
not less proud than my own. But why wound the hand 
that would protect you ? Why question my motives so 
closely? You came to me with many mistaken notions. 
I have set your mind straight upon these points. You 
tell me you are friendless, homeless. I am touched with 
pity for the forlorn condition of one so young, so beau- 
tiful, so innocent I offer you a home. I will be your 
friend, if you desire it. If I have other motives than 
are apparent on the surface, Miss Brend,” she added, 
“you maybe sure that I shall keep those motives to my- 
self. You want a situation ; I offer you one better than 
you will obtain elsewhere.” 

Edda continued to deliberate. She felt stung and 
outraged by the non-recognition accorded to her claims. 
She was dissatisfied and resentful. The mystery of her 
origin had only deepened instead of clearing. The at- 
titude of Miss Powys toward her had been unexpected 
and was unsatisfactory. She felt convinced that the 
secret of her origin was wholly or in part known to the 
banker’s daughter, but her faith that this lady was her 
mother had received a shock. She believed now that 
her mother had been a relative of Miss Powys — a sister, 
possibly — and Edda’s desire to probe the mystery of her 
origin became now, instead of a mere desire, a strong, 
savage, inflexible determination. To carry out her pur- 
pose, to prosecute her researches, it would be well for 
her to remain at the bankers’ house. 

“ I will stay,” she said, at last, conscious that the lady’s 
deep gray eyes were watching her with keen anxiety. 
“ If I have no claim upon you, Miss Powys, your gener- 


A NEW ELEMENT OF DISCORD. 77 

osity is without parallel. I will do my best to deserve 
it.” 

Miss Powys drew a long breath of relief. 

“ Let all discussion, or even question, about your 
origin end here in this room and now, Miss Brend,” she 
said, “for so long a time as you may remain with me. 
The family here consists of my father and my cousin, a 
confidential clerk in the bank. To them, as to all others, 
you will be introduced simply as Miss Brend, a young 
lady from Yorkshire, a niece of a gentleman named Niz- 
bit, who, hearing of my benevolence, sent you to me in 
the hope that I would assist you to some situation in 
which you might support yourself. Becoming interested 
in you, I took you into my own service as my com- 
panion. That is what you are to say to others if ques- 
tioned, and it is also what you are to say to yourself. I 
am noted in my family for doing odd and eccentric 
things, so no one will question my proceedings.” 

Edda bowed understandingly. 

“ Shall I remain, now that I am here, Miss Powys ?” 
she inquired. 

“ Certainly. I will send to the station for your trunks 
immediately.” 

Edda smiled, with something of her former bitterness. 

“ My luggage is all contained in the small bundle I 
left in your drawing-room, Miss Powys,” she exclaimed. 
“I am not a pampered young lady. I have never had 
more than two gowns at a time. Life on a Yorkshire 
moor is different from life in London. Besides, since 
the remittances of my unknown mother first failed to 
arrive, I have not been pampered by the Nizbits, as 
you may suppose. My wardrobe was first to suffer. I 
have only a change of garments, nothing more.” 

“ This lack must be remedied at once,” said the 
banker’s daughter, promptly. “ Mrs. Priggs will go out 


78 


A NEW ELEMENT OF DISCORD. 


with you upon a shopping expedition this very morn- 
ing. You must be well clothed before you are seen by 
the gentlemen of the family.” 

“ In that case,” said Edda, gravely, “ I shall be obliged. 
I fear, to ask an advance of a portion of my salary. Out 
of my hundred pounds a year, I shall put aside half as 
an umbrella for a rainy day. Friendless young women 
of mysterous origin have special reason to look out for 
their future, having no one to look out for them.” 

Miss Powys bit her lips. Edda’s brusque independ- 
ence was a new experience. 

“Very well,” she replied. “Have your own way, 
Miss Brend. You shall have fifty pounds for your,.shop- 
ping this morning — a half year’s salary — and I advise 
you to attire yourself in a manner becoming a young 
lady, and one not out of place in my drawing-room. 
You will be seen by my guests, and I may as well say 
that my father and cousin, while scrupulously particular 
as to their own attire, are not less, critical in regard to 
that of others.” 

“ I shall remember,” said Edda. 

Miss Powys went to a small private desk of ebony 
and silver, unlocked it, and explored its interior. Pres- 
ently she returned with a small silver portmonnaie, 
which was open, displaying a blue silk lining, and five 
new, crisp ten-pound Bank of England notes. 

“ Here is your first half-yearly salary, Miss Brend,” 
she remarked, placing the portmonnaie in Edda’s hands. 
“ When I next see you — say at dinner — I hope to see 
you dressed becomingly and suitably.” 

Miss Powys, without waiting for thanks, now sum- 
moned Mrs. Priggs, who came from the inner room. 
The maid had heard the entire interview between her 
beautiful mistress and Edda, and regarded the latter 
with a more kindly interest than before. 


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A NEW ELEMENT OF DISCORD. 


79 


“ Priggs,” said Miss Powys, “ Miss Brend is to re- 
main with me as my companion. I desire you to assist 
her at her toilet, and to look with especial care after her 
comfort. I will order the carriage immediately to con- 
vey her upon a shopping expedition, and you are to go 
with her to the best shops, and assist her in her selec- 
tions. You will now, first of all, show her to her room. 
She will have the maple-room.” 

Miss Powys graciously dismissed her new companion, 
who followed Priggs from the boudoir. 

The extensive suite of apartments over the long draw- 
ing-room belonged to the banker’s daughter. Across 
the wide, gallery-like hall were the guest chambers, in 
the rear of which, looking out upon his private garden, 
was the chamber of the banker himself. Mrs. Priggs 
conducted Edda up another flight of stairs to the third 
floor. Here were guest-chambers also, sumptuous 
in their appointments. A rear apartment, directly over 
that of Mr. Powys, belonged to the banker’s nephew, to 
whom Miss Powys had made allusion. 

One of the front rooms upon this floor, with wide win- 
dows overlooking the square, was known as the maple- 
room, the doors, entire woodwork, and furniture even, 
being made of the delicately-tinted, exquisitely-curled 
American maple. The upholstery, carpets and curtains 
were all of soft, sea-green tint. The low tented bed 
stood in an alcove shut off from the room by glazed 
doors, with silken hangings. A dressing-room and bath 
adjoined. The small suite was perfect in all its points, 
and Edda felt a thrill of girlish delight in her new 
grandeur. 

Mrs. Priggs exhibited to her the various luxurious 
conveniences of the apartment, the long, swinging mir- 
rors set in moveable frames in the dressing-room, the 
armoires, with doors set with mirrors of heavy French 


80 


A NEW ELEMENT OF DISCORD. 


plate, and many other elegancies unknown to the York- 
shire maiden, and finally went out, promising to return 
for Edda when the carriage should be announced. 

The girl’s bundle was brought up to her by a servant, 
who held it at arm’s length, as if fearing contamination 
or infection from it. Edda’s simple toilet was soon 
made. She bathed her face and hands, brushed out her 
close jetty rings of hair, brushed her shabby, quaintly- 
fashioned gown, put on clean linen collar and cuffs, and 
was ready. She sat down in a lounging-chair to await 
the return of Mrs. Priggs, who presently appeared, well- 
attired for her station, and, in fact, a hundredfold better 
dressed than Edda. 

“ The carriage is waiting, Miss Brend,” she said, re- 
spectfully, but with a little sniff at the girl’s battered 
sailor hat and mended gloves. 

Edda preceded her attendant down the stairs, moving 
with the easy grace that was her heritage. She passed 
out at the open door and entered the carriage, settling 
herself comfortably into her place, while Mrs. Priggs took 
the opposite seat, her back to the horses. 

“ Regent street,” said Mrs. Priggs to the coachman. 

The carriage rolled easily out of Cavendish Square 
and on its way to Regent street. Mrs. Priggs sat with 
pursed-up mouth, expecting to be assailed with questions, 
but Edda did not ask her one. The young girl looked 
from the carriage upon the London streets, so new and 
strange to her, seeming to be absorbed in the novelty of 
sights and sounds, but there was a gravity in the formerly 
merry eyes that indicated deeper thoughts than cbuld be 
aroused by these. 

On arriving in Regent street, Mrs. Priggs stopped the 
carriage at one of the grand shops usually patronized by 
her mistress ; and Edda, with an unconsciously aristo- 
cratic bearing, led the way into its interior. If Mrs. 


A NEW ELEMENT OF DISCORD. 


81 


Priggs had expected Edda to consult her in regard to 
her purchases, with girlish timidity, and shrinking from 
responsibility, she now found herself mistaken. The little 
Yorkshire girl was endowed with natural good taste, and 
was quite competent to clothe herself, and to make her 
own selections from the goods displayed. She knew 
what she wanted and what she could afford. She was 
fond of beautiful things, but she could not lose sight of 
the fact that she was a paid companion, liable to be dis- 
charged at the caprice of her employer. Yet her manner 
toward Mrs. Priggs was devoid of anything like super- 
ciliousness. In spite of her brusqueness, her wilfulness, 
and her independence, Edda was a lady to the core. 

Her purchases were few and well-chosen. A handsome 
black silk walking-suit, fully made, was found to fit her, 
and she bought it. A black grenadine dinner-dress made 
with a train ; some white cambric morning-gowns, a 
flannel dressing-gown, a trained white muslin robe, with 
multifarious trimmings, were also chosen, and Edda 
gave orders for a carriage-dress and an evening-dress. 

“ You will want a white silk, Miss Brend,” said her 
attendant, in a whisper, “and a pink faille, and a maize 
crepe, and — ” 

“You talk as if I were an heiress, instead of a paid 
companion, liable to lose my place any day, Mrs. Cath- 
erine,” said Edda, smiling. “ I have no money to spend 
in the things you suggest. I have many necessary pur- 
chases still to make, and my fifty pounds must provide 
my wardrobe for a year.” 

Mrs. Priggs ventured a remonstrance, but Edda was 
not to be swerved from the path she had marked out 
for herself. 

From the magazin des modes they visited, in turn, the 
bootmaker, the milliner, the glover, and a ladies’ furn- 
ishing store. Several hours had been consumed in shop- 


82 


A NEW ELEMENT OF DISCORD. 


ping, and Edda’s new purse was nearly empty. She 
was weary also, having slept little during her journey- 
ing on the previous night, and was glad to return to 
Cavendish Square. Her purchases went in the carriage 
with her, or followed her in boxes with due expedition, 
arriving at her new home long before the dinner hour, 
which was at seven o’clock. 

Edda obtained a refreshing nap, and took a cool bath 
before it was time to dress. Having never employed 
the services of a maid, she felt no need of one, and when 
Mrs. Priggs came in about six o’clock, Edda was in full 
dinner dress. 

Mrs. Priggs carried in her arms several boxes, but 
these she hastened to deposit upon a table, looking at 
Edda with keen surprise, bordering upon amazement. 

She well might be amazed. The shabby little York- 
shire girl had given place to an elegant little beauty, 
who would have attracted marked admiration at any 
court in Europe. The small boyish head rippled over 
still with jetty rings of hair, but the effect was strikingly 
beautiful. The dark face with its irregular features, 
was childlike still, but superb in its brunette brilliance, 
and the vivid eyes were full of fire and splendor. She 
had put on her white robe, and her neck was shaded by 
a single thickness of sheer thin muslin. A frill of lace 
arose around her slender throat. Her train was worn 
gracefully. Her round arms were bare below the elbow, 
and unadorned with bracelet or ring. Her dress was 
profusely trimmed with puffs and lace, and she wore a 
wide black velvet sash, which was lined with pale pink 
silk, and knotted carelessly half way down her skirt. 

“ You look as if you had been dressed by a French 
maid, Miss,” said Mrs. Priggs, not able to conceal her 
admiration. “ You do look lovely. But you have no 
jewelry, not even a locket or brooch at your throat. My 


A NEW ELEMENT OF DISCORD. 


83 


mistress went out shopping to-day, while you were out, 
and she bought some presents for you, which she begs 
you to accept with her compliments.” 

The waiting-woman presented to Edda a slender ring 
of silver keys, and proceeded to open and display the 
boxes she had brought. 

There was, first of all, a dressing-case, with gold fit- 
tings. Edda unlocked it, and examined the carved, 
ivory-backed brushes, the bottles, and scents, and all the 
et ceteras necessary to a fashionable lady’s toilet-mak- 
ing. 

Next was a casket with trays containing two com- 
plete sets of jewelry, one of pale pink coral, and the 
other of gold and enamel. 

The third box contained sets of rare point lace, with 
flouncings, and a shawl. 

Edda’s eyes sparkled at sight of all these splendors. 
Then she seemed to remember herself, and quietly 
closed the boxes, and laid down the ring of keys, saying, 
gravely : 

“ Miss Powys is very kind, but I cannot accept her 
gifts. I have done nothing to deserve them ; I have no 
claims upon her ; and I have too much pride to wear 
what I have not earned, or what does not come to me 
through the channels of friendship or kinship. Please 
say to Miss Powys that I am grateful, but that I must 
decline her costly presents.” 

Not all Mrs. Priggs’s expostulations could swerve 
Edda a hair’s breadth from this decision. 

“ If you are proud, Miss Brend, so is my mistress,” 
said the woman, grimly. “ I warn you not to reject her 
first overtures of friendship. You will be sorry.” 

“ I cannot take that for which I cannot render an 
equivalent,” declared Edda, sturdily. “There’s no use 


84 


A NEW ELEMENT OF DISCORD. 


in talking, Mrs. Catherine — none whatever. When I 
won’t do a thing, I won’t do it !” 

“ Very well, Miss, have your own way. I’ll take your 
message to my mistress.” 

Mrs. Priggs reloaded herself with the boxes, and de- 
parted in high dudgeon. 

She came back again in the course of a few minutes, 
boxes and all, looking flushed and triumphant. 

“I took back the boxes, along of your insulting mes- 
sage, Miss Brend,” she said, “ and Miss Powys bade me 
bring back the boxes again, not as gifts, but with the 
commands — commands was the word, Miss — that you 
should wear and make use of these articles while you 
remain her companion. They are to use, like your room 
or furniture.” 

“ Of course I shall obey Miss Powys’s commands,” 
said Edda, quietly. “Open the jewel case, please.” 

Mrs. Priggs obeyed. 

Edda proceeded to deck herself sparingly with the 
set of pale coral, and hung on her bosom, suspended 
from a gold necklet, a heavy oval locket, with the initial 
E set in milk-white pearls on a sunken red-gold ground. 

“The gentlemen are dressing for dinner,” said Mrs. 
Priggs, “ and Miss Powys is in the drawing-room. She 
wishes you to come to her at once.” 

Edda obeyed the command, descending to the draw- 
ing-room. 

Miss Powys was alone. She stood at one of the win- 
dows, dressed in pale blue crape, and there was some- 
thing in her attitude of sorrow, almost of despair. 

As Edda appeared, Miss Powys turned with a start. 
A look of wonder, surprise, of amazement even, ap- 
peared in her dark-gray eyes as she marked the trans- 
formation of the Yorkshire girl into the brilliant little 


A NEW ELEMENT OF DISCORD. 


85 


beauty we have described. The lady’s face flushed 
hotly, and then paled. 

“You are prompt, Miss Brend,” she said. “I like 
punctuality. And I wanted you to join me before the 
gentlemen should come in. I hope you will feel at home 
here, and I desire you to look upon me as your friend. I 
see that you do not quite like me, and that you are on 
your guard against me, but surely we can be very good 
friends, and I intend that we shall be.” 

Edda replied only by a bow, as the door opened and 
Mr. Powys, the great banker, entered the apartment. 

Miss Powys presented Edda as her “ new companion, 
Miss. Brend.” 

Mr. Powys was in regulation dinner dress — an elderly 
gentleman, short of statue, round and rosy, smooth- 
faced, clear-eyed, with some family resemblance to the 
stout Briton of Leech’s caricatures. He was eminently 
a business man, his whole life being bound up in his 
bank and his banking operations. He bestowed upon 
Edda a courteous bow, and began to walk up and down 
the room, his hands clasped beneath his coat-tails. 

Silence followed until the appearance of Miss Powys’s 
cousin, Mr. Powys’s confidential clerk at the bank — his 
manager, in fact — Mr. Gascoyne Upham. 

Mr. Upham was about forty years of age, tall and 
spare to gauntness, unwholesome-looking, with a pasty 
complexion, very dull eyes, and a long, sharp nose of 
inquisitive appearance. He was of independent fortune, 
unmarried, and was particularly attentive to his beauti- 
ful cousin, Miss Powys. 

He acknowledged his introduction to Edda in a very 
low bow, and with a look of admiration. 

Dinner was announced. Edda was silent through 
the long courses except when spoken to, and then her 
replies were brief, but appropriate. Miss Powys talked 


86 


A NEW ELEMENT OF DISCORD. 


brilliantly, and Mr. Powys aroused himself from his ab- 
straction to converse with her, and Mr. Upham was full 
of anecdote and gossip. 

“ Where do you go this evening, Agnace ?” inquired 
the banker, when the quartette had returned to the 
drawing-room. “ To Mrs. Markham’s reception, or Lady 
Dorr’s party ?” 

“ I am not going out,” replied Miss Powys, somewhat 
wearily. “ I shall be glad of one evening at home. This 
endless round of party-going begins to tell even upon 
me, and I thought my vitality boundless.” 

“ You must leave town, Agnace,” said the banker, with 
concern. “ You are not looking yourself to-night. You 
need sea or country air, and I am glad that the season 
is so near at an end.” 

Miss Powys smiled, smothering a sigh. She glanced 
toward Edda. Mr. Upham was bending over the young 
girl with an appearance of the most flattering devotion, 
uttering compliments in a honeyed sort of voice. 

Miss Powys frowned. 

“ Miss Brend,” she said, somewhat sharply, “ will you 
give us a little music?” 

Edda arose. Mr. Upham escorted her to the open 
piano, and stood by her side while she played an effect- 
ive snatch from a fashionable opera. She played well, 
better than most girls of her age could have done, and 
rendered the music with verve and passion. Mr. Upham 
was delighted. Mr. Powys threw his handkerchief over 
his face, and composed himself to sleep. 

Miss Powys’s countenance began to indicate a grow- 
ing displeasure, but she masked the sentiment, as soon 
as she became conscious of it, under a grave thought- 
fulness. 

“ Please favor us now with a song, Miss Brend,” said 


A NEW ELEMENT OF DISCORD. 87 

Mr. Upham, when Edda had finished. “ You should 
have a voice like a bird to accompany that touch.” 

Edda glanced at her patroness, and Miss Powys indi- 
cated a desire that she should sing. The girl obeyed, 
singing an old Yorkshire ballad in a pure, sweet con- 
tralto voice that would have moved a sensitive person 
to tears. 

“We shall have charming little concerts now that you 
are here, Miss Brend,” said Mr. Upham, when the last 
low note had died away. “ Miss Powys has a charming 
soprano voice, and I have a tenor, while you will supply 
a contralto. Miss Powys is very fond of music, and 
she has reason to congratulate herself on having a com- 
panion with musical tastes also. You have had a good 
training, Miss Brend. Did you study in Italy or Ger- 
many ?” 

“ In Yorkshire,” returned Edda, with a whimsical 
smile. “ I had excellent governesses, however.” 

Mr. Upham escorted Edda back to the side of her pa- 
troness, but continued to devote himself to the young 
companion. Mr. Powys slept throughout the evening. 
At ten o’clock, Miss Powys dismissed Edda for the night. 

Mr. Upham hastened to open the door for the young 
girl, and then returned to his cousin, exclaiming : 

“ Agnace, where did you pick up that beautiful crea- 
ture ? And what do you want of a companion ? Did you 
select her because her brunette beauty is in such com- 
plete contrast to your blonde loveliness ?” 

“ My motives were scarcely so unworthy as that,” said 
Miss Powys. “ She is a friendless young girl who has 
been recommended to my care, and I intend to take care 
of her. Do you understand, Gascoyne ? I am warn- 
ing you. She will think those empty compliments of 
yours sincere, and I desire you to refrain from offering 
them in future.” 


88 


A NEW ELEMENT OF DISCORD. 


“ From what points of the compass does she come ?” 

“ She is from Yorkshire, as she said.” 

“ The name of Brend is not common. It has a respect- 
able sound,” said Mr. Upham. “ Does the girl come of 
a good family, Agnace ?” 

“ I suppose so. Would I take an adventuress into 
close companionship with me ?” 

“ Of course not. She has the look of a true-blooded 
aristocrat, and there’s electricity in her — life, spirit. 
Agnace, upon my soul, I don’t know when I’ve been so 
struck with a woman at short acquaintance. It’s a reg- 
ular case of falling in love at first sight.” 

Miss Powys looked startled — then forced a laugh. 

“ What nonsense !” she exclaimed. “ You must not 
speak like that to her, Gascoyne.” 

“ And why not ? Is she not of good family ? Is it 
necessary for me to seek a fortune with a wife ? Have I 
not enough for both ? Have you deemed me incapable 
of a disinterested affection ? No, Agnace, I love this 
girl already, and I mean to marry her.” 

“ You have had a thousand fancies — this is one.” 

“It is love. I’ll marry her as true as that she’s living. 
I mean to question her about her family to-morrow. 
I don’t care about money, but her family must be all 
right, you know. You may not like your cousin to 
marry your companion, but your pride shall not stand 
in the way of my happiness. I’ll go to Yorkshire, find 
out all about the Brends, and so on, and marry the girl 
forthwith.” 

He spoke in a tone of fixed resolve. Miss Powys knew 
that expostulation with him would be useless. She had 
not believed him capable of a disinterested affection, 
and was astonished and alarmed. 

“ I’m going out for an hour to my club, Agnace,” said 
Mr. Upham. “ I’ll let myself in as usual.” 


THE LOVERS TO BE SEPARATED. 


89 


He went out, leaving Miss Powys with her sleeping 
father. She arose and went to one of the windows, 
looking out upon the square with wild eyes and wilder 
heart 

“ Oh, if I had only foreseen this !” she thought. “Yet 
who could have foreseen that Gascoyne would love her? 
I have brought her into peril, for he is not one to make 
any woman happy. And I have risked the discovery of 
the secret after all these years. What can I do ? Not 
send her away to-morrow, for such procedure would 
arouse suspicion and hasten discovery. Yet how can 
she remain here ? Her remaining here was a fatal error, 
yet where could I have sent her ? And that error, I be- 
gin to fear, will precipitate a horrible ruin upon us all.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE LOVERS TO BE SEPARATED. 

The Earl of Charlewick appeared in person to con- 
duct Lord Clair to the presence of his daughter. As 
they approached the private sitting-room of Miss Clair, 
Lord Ronald Charlton emerged from it and walked past 
them with a light step and erect carriage. He bowed 
gracefully in the moment of meeting, and seemed not 
at all embarrassed by the rencontre. 

The earl looked after him with a scowl, muttering 
something that was inaudible. The baron compressed 
his lips, and said : 

“ I will see my daughter alone first, my lord. I shall 
break off all communication between her and Lord 
Ronald, believe me, and she will yield to my commands. 


90 


THE LOVERS TO BE SEPARATED. 


Come to us in the course of an hour, but do not speak’ 
of love to her unless I first approach the subject.” 

The earl assented, and Lord Clair softly opened the 
door of his daughter’s room and entered her presence. 

Miss Clair had flung herself, an instant before, upon a 
sofa, in an attitude of abandonment to sorrow. Her 
head was bowed, her face hidden. She was clad in deep 
mourning. 

“ Hellene,” said the baron, approaching her. “ My 
child!” 

The girl started at the sound of his voice, and sprang 
up. She was pale, and there were tears in her sapphire 
eyes, but she was not despairing. Indeed, there was a 
world of courage in her countenance and in her bearing. 

“ Father !” she exclaimed. “ Is it you ?” 

Lord Clair kissed her forehead, and led her back to 
her sofa. 

“ I should hardly have known you, Hellene,” he 
observed, eying her critically. “ You will do me credit, 
I see. Did you know that I was come ?” 

“I just learned of your presence within the hour,” said 
Miss Clair. “ Lord Ronald Charlton told me. He has 
just gone out. You must have met him in the hall.” 

“ I did. I have already had an interview with him. 
He pounced upon me as I entered the house, and im- 
mediately reminded me of my consent to your marriage 
with him. His proceeding was in execrable taste.” 

“ It was necessary that he should speak promptly if he 
would gain your ear before your mind has been poisoned 
against him,” said Miss Clair, warmly. “ He has been 
turned out of this house — think of that ! — out of the 
home he expected would be his own — turned out like a 
refractory servant. He has gone now — gone from be- 
neath this roof forever.” 

“What would you expect, Hellene? As to being 


THE LOVERS TO BE SEPARATED. 


91 


turned out, the earl has a right to choose his guests, has 
he not? Would you have Lord Charlewick give up his 
hereditary rights to his nephew simply because Lord 
Ronald expected to be the earl ?” 

“ No, I do not expect anything so improbable, nor do 
I desire it,” said Miss Clair. “ But why should not the 
earl provide for the nephew, as the late earl would have 
done?” 

“ Why don’t rich men everywhere throw away their 
money ? Come, come, Hellene, you are wrong-headed 
in this thing. Your liking for Lord Ronald blinds you 
to the truth. You look upon him as a Chevalier Bayard, 
‘ without fear and without reproach,’ a veritable knight 
of chivalry. I look upon him as a young man bred to 
luxury, who means to retrieve his ill-fortunes by marry- 
ing money. He intends to hold you to your promise 
given under totally different circumstances. He is, in 
short, a fortune-hunter.” 

“You are mistaken, papa — you have been deceived by 
Lord Charlewick. Ronald is not what you think him.” 

“Come, come,” said the baron, “has not Lord Ronald 
already tried to poison your mind against me, your own 
father ?” 

“No. He said that you would probably withdraw 
your consent to our marriage, that was all. Ronald is 
no fortune-hunter, papa. I think he will go into the 
army, or into some active life. He will not be dependent 
upon his wife, that I know. Oh, papa, he is the same 
Ronald to whom you promised me in marriage. You 
will not withdraw that consent when he has lost every- 
thing but me, will you ?” pleaded Miss Clair. 

“ I must do so. My duty as a father compels me to 
refuse your prayer, Hellene. I cannot give up my 
daughter to one whom I believe to be a fortune-hunter. 
My consent was given to your marriage with the heir of 


92 


THE LOVERS TO BE SEPARATED. 


Charlewick. Lord Ronald is no longer the heir, and I 
can withdraw my consent with a good grace. I do so 
now. I utterly refuse to permit you to marry him.” 

“ Then I must wait until I attain my majority,” said 
Miss Clair, resolutely. “ I cannot go back from my 
word, sir, whatever you may do.” 

The baron looked his stern displeasure. 

“ A girl of eighteen setting up her will against that of 
her father and guardian — it is preposterous !” he ejacu- 
lated. “ This unfortunate entanglement must be ended 
now and here. I am sorry to be obliged to exercise my 
authority over you in the very first hour of our reunion ; 
but you compel me to do so. Hellene, I forbid you to 
again see or hold any communication whatever with 
Lord Ronald Charlton. I shall myself inform him of 
my decision, and appeal to his sense of honor to release 
you.” 

“ I shall refuse to accept a release, papa. I shall be 
true to him while I live.” 

“A girl with your beauty and fortune should make a 
brilliant marriage,” said the baron. “ An alliance be- 
tween the heir of Charlewick and Miss Hellene Clair 
would have been eminently suitable. But Lord Ronald 
has no grand prospects now. He has become simply a 
cadet member of a noble house. I am pleased to see 
that the new earl seems enchanted with you. You’ve 
made a conquest there, Hellene.” 

Miss Clair’s lips curled. 

“ A poor conquest, I fear, papa.- The Earl of Charle- 
wick is a bad man. His own father feared him.” 

“ The earl has been much maligned. As Lord Odo 
Charlton he was wild, I grant, but young men are often 
wild. You are not supposed to understand these things, 
my dear. He is now earl,*a handsome man after a cer- 


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THE LOVERS TO BE SEPARATED. 


93 


tain style, and he is immensely wealthy. I should like 
to see you mistress of Charlewick-le-Grand.” 

Miss Clair’s face flushed. 

“ But you would not like to see me the wife of Lord 
Charlewick, papa, would you ?” she demanded. 

“ Yes, Hellene, I should. And the earl would like to 
marry you, I know. He admires you extremely. In 
fact, he has already made a proposal to become your 
suitor. And I gave my consent, Hellene, bidding him 
win your heart from this foolish fancy, as I hope and 
believe he can do.” 

“ What, he — the man with a mystery — with a hidden 
past ! Papa, you amaze me ! Would you give your 
own daughter to this man of secrets ? I cannot believe 
that you would sell me — ” 

“Sell you?” cried the baron, with irritation. “Hel- 
lene, you would provoke a saint. What vile insinuations 
you throw out against your own father ! ‘ Sell you !’ 

And what romantic speech is this, ‘ man with a mystery,’ 
‘ man of secrets ?’ ” 

“ You understand me, papa,” said Miss Clair, un- 
dauntedly. “What is this secret of Lord Odo Charl- 
ton’s past life ? Where has he spent the last twenty 
years ?” 

“In South America — Brazil.” 

“He says so. Have you other authority for the state- 
ment ? Do you believe it ?” asked Miss Clair, keenly. 

“Do not insult the noble gentleman whose hospitality 
you are enjoying, Hellene. Such suspiciousness in a 
girl of your age is not creditable.” 

“ I am forced to think for myself,” said the girl, sor- 
rowfully, “ since you have joined Lord Charlewick in 
enmity of Ronald. But I shall not enjoy the hospitality 
of the earl much longer. I cannot stay under the roof 
which is not allowed to shelter Lord Ronald. I can- 


94 


THE LOVERS TO BE SEPARATED. 


not meet this odious dark-faced earl. Papa, have I 
seemed unfilial since you came ?” and the girl crept 
nearer to him in pleading. “We have known little of 
each other, you and I. But I will be the best daughter 
in the world if you will look kindly upon Lord Ronald, 
and sanction our continued engagement. I know that 
you are poor and embarrassed with debt, but I will share 
my income with you, and when I attain my majority I 
will settle a handsome annuity upon you. Let us be 
friends, papa, as father and daughter should be.” 

For the first time since his appearance, Miss Clair 
wreathed her arms around his neck, and kissed his over- 
hanging cheek. She wanted to love him and to be 
friends with him. A yearning for her father’s affection 
and sympathy filled her heart with aching. 

The baron understood her loneliness. He reflected. 
He was hypocritical by nature, and often played a part 
when an honest declaration of his real sentiments would 
have answered his purpose just as well. He had no 
desire for his daughter’s affection, but he did want her 
obedience, and he decided that he could win her to his 
wishes better by gentle means perhaps than by harsh- 
ness. 

So he drew her nearer to him, with a deep sigh, and 
said : 

“ Yes, my child, we will be friends. I was afraid that 
you had learned to look upon your father with suspicion 
and aversion, but I find you are at heart affectionate and 
good. I thank you for your thought of my pecuniary 
wants. I have lived for years upon credit, as I may say, 
although I must own that credit with me is about as 
scarce a medium of purchase as hard money. I accept 
your offer in the spirit in which you make it, and will 
share your income with you.” 

“ Will you take me away from Charlewick-le-Grand 


THE LOVERS TO EE SEPARATED. 


95 


at once, papa ?” demanded Miss Clair, clinging yet closer 
to him. “I cannot stay under the same roof as the earl. 
This house is no longer a home to me.” 

“Where would you go ?” 

“ I don’t know ; I hardly care, papa. Only take me 
away where you and I can live together until I attain 
my majority.” 

The baron again reflected. 

“ You are right, Hellene,” he said, hypocritically. “ If 
you are, or are not, going to marry the earl, his home is 
still no place for you. We must avoid all scandal. I 
will take you away to-morrow. Set your maid to pack 
your boxes, while I plan our destination and the way to 
reach it. I will go now for my Bradshaw. Trust in 
me, Hellene. Do your duty as a daughter, and I will 
do mine as a father.” 

“ I do trust in you, papa,” said Hellene, yet with a 
shade of anxiety. “ If my own father would not protect 
me, who could I trust ?” 

She withdrew herself gently from his clasp, and he 
arose and went out. 

In the hall he met the earl, who was on his way to join 
him in Hellene’s room. The baron linked his arm in 
that of his host, and walked away with him and down 
the staircase in silence. They entered the library. 

“ I am all impatience, my dear baron,” said the earl, 
anxiously. “What does your daughter say ?” 

“There’s up-hill work before us. She does not like 
you, and she means to be true to Lord Ronald, and 
marry him when she is old enough to do as she pleases, 
and bid defiance to me. But, in her ignorance, she plays 
directly into our hands,” said Lord Clair, with an un- 
pleasant laugh. “ She begged me to take her away from 
your house. I am to do so to-morrow. Now where am 
I to take her ? It must be out of the knowledge of Lord 


96 


UNDISGUISED HOSTILITY. 


Ronald Charlton — it must be a place too secluded for 
her to communicate with him — it must be lonely and 
dull, so that when you come to visit her she will wel- 
come even you as a relief from the horrible monotony. 
In short, her future home must be a place fitted for our 
purposes, my dear Charlewick, where she will be com- 
pletely in my hands and under my control, and find no 
chance of appeal against me. Now where shall I take 
her ?” 


CHAPTER IX. 

UNDISGUISED HOSTILITY. 

Lord Ronald Charlton, after his interview with Miss 
Clair, went to the rooms he had so long called his own, 
and made his few final preparations to leave the house. 
In the midst of them, a knock was heard upon his door, 
and in response to his invitation Mrs. Partlet, the portly 
housekeeper, and Mr. Delaney, the yet more portly stew- 
ard, entered his apartment. 

Mrs. Partlet’s eyes wece red with weeping. Mr. De- 
laney looked sorrowful and subdued. 

“ My lord,” said the butler, huskily, speaking for his 
companion as well as himself, “the hall-porter says that 
you are about to leave Charlewick-le-Grand for good. 
Is this true ?” 

“ Yes, Delaney,” replied Lord Ronald, gravely. “ I 
have no right here now, you know.” 

“ Lord Ronald, Mrs. Partlet and I have served this 
noble and honored family from our early years,” said 
Delaney. “ Mrs. Partlet’s husband is head-gardener, and 
was born also upon the estate. We all looked forward 


UNDISGUISED HOSTILITY. 


97 


to serving your lordship when you should be earl, and 
expected to spend our last days in your lordship’s ser- 
vice. The new earl has givemevery servant in the place 
dismissal. We are all to go immediately. His lordship 
will supply himself with strange servants from London 
and France. • We have come to you, my lord, to ask you 
to take us into your service.” 

“ Impossible, Delaney,” said Lord Ronald, with a sad 
smile. “ I am poor now. I haven’t a house in the world, 
not the merest cottage. I shall live in chambers hence- 
forth, I suppose, and I expect to wait upon myself.” 

The faithful servitors were greatly troubled at this 
view of the case. Delaney declared that he should seek 
a situation in London, and should hold himself ready to 
return to his young master whenever the fortunes of the 
latter should brighten. 

“ Partlet and I will lease a small dairy farm, my lord,” 
said the housekeeper. “ We talked it up between us 
last evening. Partlet has his eye on a little farm which 
is well stocked, and I’m a master hand at the manufac- 
ture of clotted cream, cream cheese, and such like dain- 
ties, as you’ve told me yourself, Lord Ronald, often and 
often, when your lordship was a mere boy. Partlet will 
lease the farm, subject to your approval, and when better 
days come to you, we beg you will take us into your 
service.” 

Lord Ronald gave the desired promise, and soon after 
the housekeeper and butler retired. 

“ And now to take myself off,” said the deposed heir 
of Charlewick. “ My life here is ended.” 

He took a last look at his rooms, and departed, 
descending the stairs, and quitting the house by a private 
door. 

He crossed the terrace, and descended into the lovely 
gardens. Beyond them stretched a wide and level lawn 


98 


UNDISGUISED HOSTILITY. 


sparsely shaded with trees. And beyond the lawn was 
the cool park, with its ancient oaks and beeches, its wide 
avenues, its bosky paths, its pools of clear shadowed 
water, and its central lake, with a picturesque little boat- 
house in which was a gay little pleasure boat or two 
ready for use. 

Lord Ronald halted in the edge of the park, and 
looked back with longing, wistful eyes, upon his lost 
Eden. 

Never in all his life had Charlewick-le-Grand looked 
so beautiful to him as now, when he went forth from it 
homeless and a wanderer. The house was of great size, 
of a grand style of architecture, with an imposing facade 
— one of those palatial dwellings which are the pride of 
Britain. A terrace ran along its front and western side. 
Upon its eastern and southern sides lay sunny gardens. 
The stables and offices were at some distance in the rear 
of the mansion, set in ample grounds which were in- 
closed by tall, close-cut hedges, and these outbuildings 
were of such fine architectural appearance as contributed 
greatly to the grandeur of the place. 

Lord Ronald looked long and earnestly upon his lost 
home, and then turned away with a sigh, and continued 
his walk to the village of Little Charlewick. He tra- 
versed the cool, dim park by the shortest route, and let 
himself out upon the public road at its farther end, 
through a tall, narrow, private gate, of which he possessed 
a key. He found himself upon the brow of the high 
table-land on which the house and park of Charlewick 
were throned, and below him, in a green valley, lay the 
village of Little Charlewick. A walk of an additional 
quarter of a mile brought him into the midst of the 
straggling little village, and to the inn known under the 
very ordinary name of the Marquis of Granby. 

The pursy, puffy landlord met him at the door, receiv- 


UNDISGUISED HOSTILITY. 


99 


ing him with a marked respect, and escorting him up 
stairs to the best suit of rooms the house contained. 

Here, in a bare little private parlor, Lord Ronald 
found awaiting him the lawyer Hartson. The landlord 
retired and the two were left to themselves. 

A long confidential conversation ensued. Hartson 
was an old man and was intimately acquainted with all 
the Charlewick family affairs, having been the confi- 
dential friend and adviser of the late earl. Lord Ronald 
had known him and trusted in him always, and had great 
faith in his shrewdness, judgment, and good sense. He 
confided in him, therefore, as a man confides in his 
lawyer or pastor, and as he confides in few others. 

“I think with you, sir,” said Hartson, finally, “ that 
Lord Charlewick has set his heart on marrying Miss 
Clair. A dozen reasons urge him to make her his wife. 
He admires her — that fact is plain to the dullest eye. 
Her youth, her beauty, her wealth, her high connections, 
her own rank, make her his natural prey. I knew Lord 
Odo Charlton well, and twenty years cannot have 
changed his prominent characteristics. Despite his 
wealth he was avaricious. Despite his high rank he had 
a slavish regard for worldly position. I do not believe 
he would marry the richest woman in England if she 
were not closely allied to nobility, if not herself nobly 
born. And the very fact that she does not like him only 
serves to whet his resolve to possess her. From his boy- 
hood he soon tired of what was easily gained, but 
opposition strengthened his desires into determined pas- 
sions. I should have foreseen the possibility of his re- 
turn and my neglect to do so now appears to me criminal. 
If there were any chance to contest his claims,” added 
the lawyer, “ I should advise such course, but there is no 
chance. Lord Odo Charlton is too well known here to 
permit the faintest possible doubt of his identity.” 


100 


UNDISGUISED HOSTILITY. 


‘ v My grandfather recognized him,” said Lord Ronald. 
“You knew him, as did the servants. No; there’s no 
opening for any contest.” 

“If Lord Clair were different,” suggested the lawyer, 
uneasily — “but there’s no use in wishing. Lord Ronald, 
you’re sure to have trouble with the baron if your 
engagement of marriage with Miss Clair continues. I 
know Lord Clair nearly as well as I know the present 
Earl of Charlewick. Clafr was a dissipated young fellow 
when he married ‘ the rich Miss Vavasour.’ He ill-treated 
his wife, and finally broke her heart. He would have 
squandered her fortune but that it was settled upon her 
and the heirs of her body, without possibility of aliena- 
tion. He is not actively bad perhaps, certainly not 
capable of a deliberate crime ; but he is supremely sel- 
fish, fond of his own ease and pleasure, and completely 
indifferent to the happiness of his daughter. Poor Miss 
Clair !” 

“ But what would you advise, Hartson ?” demanded 
Lord Ronald, with all the ardor and anxiety of a young 
lover. “ I have engaged to meet Miss Clair in the park, 
at the central lake, this evening, for a parting interview, 
for she can no longer stay at Charlewick. What shall I 
say to her ? How shall I put her on her guard ? Shall 
I urge her to elope with me ? No, I cannot do that. I 
will not take my bride by stealth,” said the young man, 
proudly. “When I marry, I will do it openly, not like 
a sneaking fortune-hunter. Miss Clair is not yet eigh- 
teen — we will wait until she attains her majority, and is 
free to marry whom she pleases. Her father cannot 
compel her to marry the earl, and if her father oppresses 
her she can apply to the courts for a new guardian, or 
become a ward of Chancery. She will wait for me, 
Hartson, and while she waits I will be at work for my- 
r elf. I will not be supported by my wife. I have a 


UNDISGUISED HOSTILITY. 


101 


small income of my own, sufficient for my bachelor wants, 
but I must be able to contribute something to our 
joint household. Now how am I to do this ?” 

“ There's the army — ” 

“ No, no. The army’s well enough for a bachelor or 
a rich man, but not for me.”. 

“ If you were to go into the church, my lord, you have 
friends enough to procure for you a good fat living.” 

“ No,” said Lord Ronald, with a smile and a sigh, “ I’ll 
never go into the church to make money, although there 
are many livings of great pecuniary value. But the 
truth is I am burdened with a conscience, and my con- 
science won’t allow me to play the hypocrite, or to sell 
the Sacred Word for simple gain. There’s no need to 
decide my future now after all, Hartson. I am likely 
to have sufficient time for consideration. Miss Clair 
will leave Charlewick to-morrow, I dare say, and I shall 
not stay on at Little Charlewick longer. I’ll go over to. 
Crediton, if you like, take up my quarters at a quiet 
inn, and we will discuss the subject of my future at our 
leisure.” 

Hartson assented, and the conversation drifted into 
other channels. They talked of Lord Odo Charlton, the 
new earl, and speculated in regard to his hidden past 
and its secrets, and the hours wore on slowly. The 
lawyer, fearing that Lord Ronald might become des- 
pondent if left alone upon this first day of his banish- 
ment from his home, under the loss of his kindly grand- 
father and the threatened loss of his betrothed wife, 
concluded to remain also at the inn until Lord Ronald 
should leave it on the morrow. 

The two, therefore, dined together in the little private 
parlor at six o’clock, and somewhere about eight o’clock 
Lord Ronald set out alone to keep his appointment with 
Miss Clair in Charlewick Park. 


102 


UNDISGUISED HOSTILITY. 


Oppressed with a vague sense of impending evil, the 
old lawyer, an hour later, quitted the inn and followed 
him. 

Meanwhile Lord Ronald ascended the hill, entered the 
dim park, and made his way to the central lake. 

The evening had already fallen when he arrived. A 
few golden stars glimmered softly in the azure dusk 
above. The faint, soft shadows of pale gloom were less 
thick upon the little lake, but lurked all around under 
the trees. Lord Ronald came out upon the pebbly 
beach with a swift stride, bent an earnest glance around 
him, and called softly : 

“ Hellene ! Hellene !” 

No answer came. Miss Clair was not at the trysting- 
place. Lord Ronald struck a match and looked at his 
watch. It lacked still some minutes of the appointed 
hour. He began walking to and fro on the beach in the 
shadow of the trees, listening keenly. 

At length a light and hurried step on one of the paths 
leading to the lake caught his attention. He knew the 
step at once, and came to a halt. The steps came nearer, 
then also halted, and a sweet, low, panting voice called 
through the stillness : 

“ Ronald, are you there?” 

“Here, Hellene,” he answered; “here by the boat- 
house.” . 

The slender figure of Miss Clair, clothed in deepest 
mourning, a dense black shadow amid pale shadows, 
came swiftly hurrying from the shelter of the trees, and 
ran. to him along the beach. Lord Ronald sprang for- 
ward to meet her, and clasped her in his arms. 

She trembled, and her heart was beating wildly. 

“ What, Hellene, afraid to visit the park at this hour?” 
asked Lord Ronald. “ You are panting and scared.” 

“ I — I thought they followed me,” breathed Miss Clair, 


UNDISGUISED HOSTILITY. 


103 


looking nervously back over her shoulder. “I am no 
coward, Ronald, but I am sure I was followed.” 

“ But who could have followed you, dear? Did Lord 
Clair see you leave the house ?” 

“ I do not know that any one saw me. I did not dine 
with my father and Lord Charlewick. I dined in my 
own room at seven o’clock, and my maid is in my room 
still with closed doors, concealing my absence. I stole 
out by the west garden door, and entered the park by a 
roundabout course through the shrubbery. As I crossed 
the garden, I fancied that I smelled the odor' of cigar 
smoke issuing from the little white pavilion, and next I 
was sure that I heard steps pursuing me.” 

“ A freak of imagination, darling,” said Lord Ronald, 
tenderly. “Listen. You hear no one. There is no one 
near us, Hellene. Sit down beside me here on the boat- 
house steps — so. Has Lord Clair sought an interview 
with you yet ? I met him in the hall with the earl after 
I quitted your room.” 

“Yes, my father come to me, but he came alone. Oh, 
Ronald, he is not at all what I expected, even though I 
remember something of his character. He does not 
seem to care really for me, his own daughter. He said 
nothing of your grandfather who was so good to me, but 
spoke of the present earl, and — and of you.” 

“ What does he say of me, Hellene ?” 

“He disapproves of my engagement to marry you, 
Ronald, now that your prospects are so altered. He 
spoke bitterly of you, but I refused to withdraw my 
promise, which once had his sanction. He told me that 
Lord Charlewick desires to marry me, and urged me to 
look favorably upon him. I refused to perjure myself, 
Ronald, and he was angry, but I appealed to his better 
feelings, and I hope he will say nothing more to me in 
regard to the earl. I urged our immediate departure 


104 


UNDISGUISED HOSTILITY. 


from Charlewick, and papa consented. We are to go to- 
morrow.” 

“And where ar.e you going, Hellene?” 

“I don’t know — anywhere away from the earl. I’ve 
got places of my own, and papa and I could make a 
home together until — until you and I are married. I 
suppose we will go to London first of all. Oh, Ronald, 
I should like to go to my great-great-grandmother, Mrs. 
Vavasour, who brought up my own mother, but who re- 
fused to see mamma after her marriage to papa, whom 
the aged lady did not like. Do you think Mrs. Vavasour 
would receive me ?” 

“She has refused to see you hitherto, Hellene. She 
is nearly a hundred years old, and must be very infirm. 
Your father would not allow you to visit this old lady, 
even if she were friendly to you. Doubtless Lord Clair 
will stop some days in London. You must write me 
every week, and keep me informed of all your move- 
ments and plans. I shall be very anxious until I know 
where you are settled.” 

“ There will be no need of anxiety, Ronald. Our 
prospects are gloomy enough without giving way to un- 
necessary fears,” said the young girl, brightly. “ Papa 
cannot force me into a hated marriage, even if he desired 
so to do. And I am no weak, whining girl to yield to 
importunities and coaxing. But papa will not impor- 
tune me. He values his own ease too highly. We will 
settle down together in quiet comfort, and the years 
will be passed safely until you come for me.” 

“And we shall meet often during the period of wait- 
ing,” said Lord Ronald, hopefully. “ I shall not lose 
sight of you, Hellene.” 

They talked long and earnestly in lover fashion. They 
paced the beach arm-in-arm, and laid their plans for the 


UNDISGUISED HOSTILITY. 


105 


future, and each feigned a cheerfulness they did not 
feel. 

The stable clock at Charlewick tolled the hour of ten, 
and Miss Clair aroused herself as from a trance. 

The night had grown bright with moon-light, and the 
little lake gleamed in the pale down-cast flood. The 
paths among the trees were lighted by the mellow 
shine. 

“I must go back, dear Ronald,” said the young girl, 
starting. “ The night seems light as day. I may be 
missed. Hark ! What was that noise ?” 

“ A bird in the tree above us,” answered Lord Ronald. 
“ I will take you to the house.” 

“ No, Ronald, I’ll go alone. I fear we may meet papa 
or Lord Charlewick. Hush ! Surely I heard steps then ! 
Some one’s coming ! It is — it’s father !” 

She shrank back in Lord Ronald’s arms as a figure 
emerged from the nearest pathway and approached 
them. One glance at its stout proportions showed the 
lovers that it belonged indeed to Lord Clair. 

The baron was smoking a cigar. He carried his hat 
in his hand, the night being warm. His round fat face 
was wet with perspiration, which he was trying to absorb 
into his linen pocket-handkerchief. He started at the 
sight of the young lovers in the moon-light, evincing a 
genuine surprise and considerable anger. 

“ Is it you, Hellene, with Lord Ronald Charlton ?” 
he demanded. “ I am astonished. What are you doing 
here at this hour ? This is the most discreditable per- 
formance I ever heard of.” 

“ Miss Clair came at my request, my lord,” said the 
young man, calmly, clasping Hellene yet closer. “ You 
have not yet formally withdrawn your consent to our 
marriage, and I am still her betrothed husband. The 
Earl of Charlewick has forbidden me to cross his thresh- 


106 


UNDISGUISED HOSTILITY. 


old, and I was obliged to seek my parting interview 
with Hellene in the park, and at a spot where she and I 
have spent many happy hours together.” 

“ If I have ‘ not yet formally withdrawn my consent ’ 
to your marriage with Hellene, I do so now,” cried Lord 
Clair, fuming. “ I am shocked — annoyed beyond all 
power of expression. Hellene knew my views in regard 
to this matter. I came out here to look for the earl, 
whom one of the servants declared to me to be wander- 
ing in this direction. And what do I see ? My daughter 
holding a clandestine meeting with a lover whose ad- 
dresses have ceased to be agreeable to me, or suitable 
to her.” 

“I deny that the meeting is clandestine, sir,” said 
Lord Ronald. “ I had no other place in which to meet 
my betrothed wife.” 

“ Say your last to her now,” said Lord Clair. “ I am 
her legal guardian, even if she has no respect for the 
authority of a parent, and I forbid her to see you again, 
or to hold communication with you. Come, Hellene. I 
would not have Lord Charlewick find you here, should 
his strolls bring him in this direction. Come, I say !” 

He spoke authoritatively, and Miss Clair did not refuse 
to obey. 

“I will be true, Ronald — true as steel,” she whispered 
softly in her lover’s ear. “ I will write to you.” 

Lord Ronald kissed her and released her. The baron 
seized her arm, and hurried her away, and they dis- 
appeared in the depths of the park. 

Lord Ronald stood still in the moon-light and looked 
after Hellene with a sad longing. 

How his grandfather’s premonitions of evil had been 
fulfilled. How one short week had changed a destiny as 
fair as any in the world. Only a week ago Ronald 
Charlton had been heir of Charlewick, prospective earl, 


edda’s new life. 


107 


rich, happy — and now ? Of all his riches nothing now 
remained to him save Hellene’s love. 

He was aroused from his reveries by a touch on his 
shoulder, and looking around, he found himself confront- 
ed by his kinsman, the Earl of Charlewick. 

There was a mocking sneer on the Spanish face of the 
new earl, an evil light in his sombre eyes, and a sinister 
glow on his swarthy features. His bad blood was stirred, 
it seemed. He looked the incarnation of hatred and 
wickedness. 


CHAPTER X. 
edda’s new life. 

Notwithstanding his early and prompt avowal to Miss 
Powys of his hastily-conceived love for Edda, and his 
desire to marry* her, Mr. Gascoyne Upham showed no 
precipitation in urging his suit. He was not a man to 
“ marry in haste to repent at leisure,” or to commit him- 
self to any course of action without due deliberation. 
Prudent and cautious in all his business dealings, he was 
not less so in the matter of taking to himself a wife. As 
he had told his cousin, wealth was not an indispensable 
qualification to the lady he would marry, but it was 
necessary that she should be of good family, well-con- 
nected, and of an unimpeachable respectability. 

Knowing Miss Powys so well, her pride, her respect 
for rank and worldly position, Mr. Upham considered 
these latter qualifications to be absolutely guaranteed to 
Edda by the mere fact that she had been engaged as his 
cousin’s companion, it being incredible — impossible, 
even — that the banker’s proud heiress should take into 


108 


edda’s new life. 


intimate and friendly relations with herself a young 
woman of whose history and antecedents she knew 
nothing. 

Mr. Upham was upon excellent terms with his beauti- 
ful cousin, acting as her escort whenever she desired, 
and performing various brotherly services for her at 
all times and seasons ; but he had no affection for her. 
Indeed, his sentiments toward her were of a totally 
different description. 

He was some years older than she, being close upon 
forty years of age. Some fifteen years before the date of 
his introduction to the reader, he had fallen desperately 
in love with Agnace Powys, then in the first flush of her 
proud beauty — a young, ambitious girl, with grand ideas 
of social conquests — and had told her so, begging her to 
marry him. He was a clerk in the great banking-house 
of Powys even then, and had a small fortune of his own. 
Agnace refused his offers of marriage. He importuned 
her, and she declared an aversion for him. He had 
recourse to his uncle, soliciting his influence in his 
behalf ; but the banker, regarding him in haughty sur- 
prise, informed him that Agnace was expected to make a 
grand marriage ; that, with her beauty and wealth, she 
ought, through her marriage, to acquire a title. 

“ It won’t do — it won’t do at all, Gascoyne,” the banker 
had concluded, on that memorable occasion. “ Agnace is 
not one to throw herself away upon a banker’s clerk. 
Let me hear no more of this folly, or you will have to 
leave my house and employment.” 

The banker heard no more of Upham’s folly, and the 
latter was not sent away from the house in Cavendish 
Square, nor from his uncle’s employment. He never 
spoke another word of love to his cousin Agnace. He 
made himself useful to her as a brother might have done; 
he saw her surrounded by suitors, some of them titled, 


EDDA'S NEW LIFE. 


109 


and never showed a sign of jealousy. His love for her 
changed to bitterness and anger, to secret resentment 
which strengthened into dislike and an actual hatred, 
which was carefully hidden under an unvarying courtesy 
and seeming affection. He never forgot his rejection by 
her, and he never forgave it. 

As the years went on, and Miss Powys’ beauty be- 
came more brilliant, and her suitors yet more plentiful, 
her drawing-room the favorite resort of refined, intel- 
lectual and fashionable people, many of them titled, he 
wondered that she did not marry. He asked her the 
question one day in a brotherly way. 

“ I have not yet seen anyone whom I can love,” she 
answered, frankly. “ Besides, I am ambitious, and my 
marriage must give me place among the nobility. I will 
not marry an impecunious peer whom people will say I 
bought with my money, but one who is rich, honored, 
and worthy of honor.” 

Whether her conditions were difficult of fulfilment, 
or whether she had other reasons, Miss Powys remained 
unmarried, and was still “ fancy free.” 

But Gascoyne Upham knew that her celibacy offered 
no glimmer of hope to him, and long ago he had given 
over forever any dream of marrying her. He had never 
loved again, and as time had passed had developed cer- 
tain hard, unpleasant qualities of mind and heart that 
caused Miss Powys to pity the woman who should be- 
come his wife. A recent accession to his originally 
small fortune had decided Mr. Upham to marry and 
settle in a home of his own, and just as he had arrived 
at this decision Edda Brend made her appearance upon 
the scene. 

Mr. Upham was not a favorite with women. He 
had a narrow soul, he was self-conceited, selfish, and 
hard of heart, but he had cultivated society graces, and 


110 


EDDA S NEW LIFE. 


his faults were not apparent on the surface. It seemed 
quite possible that Edda, in her ignorance of a better 
type of men, in her friendlessness and desire for a home 
of her own, might accept and marry Gascoyne Upham 
— and be unhappy throughout the rest of her life. 

Miss Powys feared this with actual and painful fore- 
boding, but she kept her own counsel after her remarks 
to Upham, in response to his own, not even addressing 
Edda upon the subject. 

But she exercised a constant vigilance over her young 
companion thenceforth whenever Edda and Upham were 
together. 

Upon the second day of Edda’s stay in Cavendish 
Square her new duties — if slight tasks might be termed 
duties — commenced. She read to Miss Powys an hour 
in the morning from a new French work, and her pro- 
tectress complimented her highly upon her pure Parisian 
accent, distinct enunciation and cultivated manner of 
reading. She wrote a few notes from Miss Powys’ dic- 
tation, played a few brilliant snatches of opera music 
upon the boudoir piano, and late in the afternoon drove 
with her employer in Hyde Park. 

At dinner Edda again met Upham, and he devoted 
himself to her for an hour thereafter. Then the girl 
retired to her own room and Miss Powys dressed and 
went to a fashionable ball, returning home hours after 
Edda had fallen asleep. 

This first day and evening were the type of many that 
followed. Reading, music, and drives in the Park, varied 
by shopping excursions, visits to opera and theaters, 
made up the experiences of Edda’s new life. 

Miss Powys was absent nearly every evening, except 
when giving entertainments. Edda was usually left to 
herself after nine o’clock. She discovered that thq 


edda’s new life. 


Ill 


banker liked to have his evening paper read aloud to 
him, and she took the task upon herself without solici- 
tation, reading the reports of the Stock Exchange, the 
Parliamentary reports, and similar .news, and afording 
him an hour of keen enjoyment. He would then fall 
asleep, despite his efforts to keep awake, and Edda would 
steal away to her own room. 

But before a week had passed the young girl dis- 
covered that the well-lighted library, with its book-lined 
walls, was more attractive than her lonely chamber, and 
she took possession of it one evening after leaving Mr. 
Powys, and became absorbed in congenial reading. 

She had been here but half an hour, or even less, when 
Mr. Upham entered the room. He had remained at 
home upon this evening, determined to further his aquaint- 
ance with the bright little brunette. He had seen her 
enter the library, and had followed her. He made a pre- 
tence of looking for a book. Edda would have retired, 
but he begged her to remain. 

“ I will go away myself if you make me feel that you 
cannot endure my presence,” he declared. “ You have 
avoided me since your first evening here, I fancy, Miss 
Brend. At any rate, I can never speak with you.” 

“ Had you anying particular to say ?” asked Edda, 
with provoking coolness, looking up at him big inquir- 
ing eyes. 

“Nothing in particular, perhaps,” said Mr. Upham, 
somewhat abashed, “ but the sunshine of your presence 
seems to be shed liberally upon everyone but me. You 
read and play to Miss Powys, which is all right, of course, 
but you read to Mr. Powys and coddle the old gentle- 
man, and he said to me to-day that he was glad Agnace 
had procured such a charming yotmg companion — that 
you were like a pleasant sunny breeze in the house — and 
he should miss you already, if you were to go. This old 


112 


edda’s new life. 


gloomy house is brightened by your youth and beauty, 
Miss Brend — ” 

“ Did Mr. Powys say that, too?” asked Edda, inno- 
cently. 

“Why, no. It is a little compliment of my own.” 

“Oh, indeed. I don’t like compliments, Mr. Upham, 
from strangers. They are like presents, which must be 
declined with thanks.” 

“ Surely, Miss Brend, you do not refuse to listen to 
words of truth, even from people with whom you are 
little acquainted. No one can respect you more than I 
do. I have been much in society, but I was never im- 
pressed so much with any young lady of the high world 
— to translate a French phrase — as I am with you.” 

“ I fear compliments begin to verge upon flattery,” 
remarked Edda, with a severe little frown. “ This won’t 
do at all, Mr. Upham. You will certainly drive me to 
my room if you go on in this fashion. I am only Miss 
Powys’ companion, and Miss Powys would not like you 
to talk so to me.” 

“ I won’t offend again,” said Mr. Upham ; “ not for 
fear of Agnace, but because compliments seem distaste- 
ful to you. I thought women fed upon compliments as 
upon bonbons. Only Yorkshire could have produced 
such a severe little Puritan, such an anomaly among 
womankind. By the way, from what part of Yorkshire 
do you come, Miss Brend ?” 

“ The West Riding,” replied Edda, not very explicitly. 

“ Ah, yes. The West Riding is very large, however,” 
smiled Mr. Upham. “The name of Brend is unfamiliar 
to me.” 

“I dare say,” said Edda, dryly. “ My family connec- 
tions are not extensive. As the little boy said, 4 When 
you see me, you see all there is of us.’ My family is 
comprised in one person — myself.” 


EDDA S NEW LIFE. 


113 


“ It is sad to be an orphan,” said Mr. Upham, pen- 
sively. “I am an orphan, too.” 

He was rather elderly orphan, being past middle age, 
and Edda’s countenance was not at all clouded with 
sadness or sympathy as she replied, philosophically : 

“ Well, some have to be orphans, and you have passed 
the tender years of boyhood, and I suppose have become 
used to your lonely condition. And you have friends 
and a home, while I — but I don’t want to talk of myself, 
Mr. Upham. There are subjects more suitable for dis- 
cussion.” 

“But none more delightful,” was the gallant response. 
“ But have you no relatives living, Miss Brend ?” 

“ I was brought up by a gentleman whom I called 
uncle, but he was simply my guardian,” replied Edda, 
evasively, and with commendable patience. “ I regret 
that I am unable to supply you with my complete gene- 
alogy, Mr. Upham. For further particulars concerning 
myself or my ancestry, permit me to refer you to Miss 
Powys.” 

Mr. Upham did not care to extend his questionings 
further, for the present. He fancied that there was 
something of mockery in Edda’s voice, and he concluded 
to adopt her suggestion and apply for further informa- 
tion concerning the girl to his cousin. 

Dismissing the questions of family and previous resi- 
dence, he set to work to make himself agreeable, and 
Edda and he were presently conversing on the most 
amicable terms. 

After an hour’s pleasant discussion of books, London, 
travel, and kindred subjects, Edda went up to her own 
room. She found Mrs. Priggs awaiting her with a very 
grim countenance, and she dismissed her, preferring to 
be alone. 

The girl did not deem it necessary to acquaint Miss 


114 


edda’s new life. 


Powys with the trivial tact that Mr. Upham had spent 
an hour in her — Edda’s — society when she next met her 
employer, late on the following morning, and Miss 
Powys did not ask her any questions calculated to elicit 
her confidence. 

But the next evening, when Ed da was again in the 
library, busy at her books, Mrs. Priggs walked in with 
her needlework, and with a countenance of unusual prim- 
ness, and said : 

“ If you please, Miss Brend, Miss Powys gave me direc- 
tions to sit with you evenings, so that you would not be 
lonely.” 

“ Oh, very well,” said the girl, with a careless little 
nod. “ There’s room enough for both you apd me, I 
dare say. Sit down and enjoy yourself.” 

Mrs. Priggs accordingly sat down in a remote corner, 
but whether she complied with Edda’s quaint invitation 
and enjoyed herself was not apparent. 

Presently Mr. Upham sauntered in as on the previous 
evening. He looked surprised at the grim presence of 
Mrs. Priggs, but he was not annoyed at it. He ignored 
it completely, and talked and laughed and jested, and 
Edda was gay, witching, and saucy withal, after her 
bright, piquant fashion. 

Thereafter, for the next week or more, it became the 
regular order of things for Edda and Mr. Upham to 
spend an hour or more together in the library, with Mrs. 
Priggs sitting grimly near, attentive to all they said, but 
silent as an Egyptian mummy. 

During this second week of Edda’s stay at the banker’s 
house, Miss Powys aroused herself from the icy coldness 
that had enwrapped her, and warmed to her young com- 
panion, making every effort to win her affection and her 
confidence. Of course Mrs. Priggs, in watching over 
Edda, was acting under the orders of her mistress, and 


edda’s new life. 


115 


equally, of course, a minute report of Edda’s actions, of 
her interviews with Mr. Upham, her apparent enjoyment 
of his society, were given each morning to Miss Powys 
with scrupulous exactness. But Miss Powys did not 
permit her knowledge thus acquired to appear. 

She was secretly very anxious about her young com- 
panion. She made gentle, kindly overtures, but Edda 
as gently repelled all attempts to win her love. The 
girl would not permit the barrier between them to be 
leveled. She would not be donfidential. And yet Miss 
Powys could not be angry with her. There was a sunni- 
ness and a breeziness about Edda that won all hearts. 
Her gayety and witcheries softened even grim Mrs. 
Priggs, who grew to love her, and to listen for the sound 
of her step in the halls, or her fresh young voice in her 
rooms. 

A third week followed, but its end found Miss Powys 
and the girl no nearer together in point of sympathy or 
affection than on the day of Edda’s arrival. 

During this third week Mr. Upham found no oppor- 
tunities for private interviews with his cousin’s young 
companion. Miss Powys spent two evenings at home, 
keeping Edda near her. She took the girl out with her 
on two evenings — once to the opera and once to a theatre. 
And on the remaining evenings she requested Edda to 
practice certain pieces of new music, and the young girl 
remained in Miss Powys’ boudoir, obediently attentive 
to the request, and attended closely by Mrs. Priggs. 

But it must not be supposed that during this week 
Mr. Upham and Edda did not meet. They did meet at 
table at morning and evening ; they met now and then 
in the drawing-room. Mr. Upham presented the girl 
with a hot-house bouquet every morning, and even the 
banker saw at last that his nephew was in love with 
Miss Powys’ companion. 


116 


edda’s new life. 


“ Gascoyne might do better, Agnace,” said Mr. Powys, 
on the evening upon which the discovery of his nephew’s 
sentiments had dawned upon him — “I mean from a 
worldly point of view ; but Miss Brend is lively and 
sweet and good, and he might do worse. I had begun 
to think he would never marry, and I’m glad his life is 
not to be blighted by a fancy as wild as that of the moth 
for the star — meaning his old foolish fancy for you. 
Do you think Miss Brend returns his affection ?” 

“ I don’t know,” was the brief response. 

“ You’d better encourage her if she does, Agnace,” 
said the banker, complacently. “ It would be a grand 
match for the poor girl. Of course she comes of a good 
family ? Where did you pick her up, Agnace ?” 

“ She was recommended to me by a friend,” said Miss 
Powys. “But she is too young to marry — and least of 
all to marry GasQoyne. I don’t approve of early mar- 
riages, father. They are the cause of untold misery.” 

“ I wish you approved of marriage at any age,” said 
the banker, sighing. “ I should like to see you settled 
before I die. Well, well, take your own time, my dear. 
Perhaps your ambition will be gratified, and I shall see 
my daughter a lady of title before I die. But about 
Miss Brend — don’t infect her with your love of celibacy. 
The girl will never have such another opportunity in 
her life. Gascoyne is not particularly agreeable, but 
he’s a gentleman and has money, and it’s good of him 
to overlook her lack of fortune.” 

Miss Powys shuddered, but made no reply. 

That night, when Edda lay in her bed, between sleep- 
ing and waking, she heard her door softly open, and 
some one came through the dimness and the stillness 
and approached and knelt at her bedside. The girl 
held her breath and did not stir. Then she heard low, 
suppressed sobbing, and felt a rain of tears upon her 


edda’s new life. 


117 


hair and kisses on her face, such as never in her life she 
had dreamed of, tender, loving, passionate kisses that 
thrilled her very soul. 

“ My darling ! My precious one !” she heard uttered, 
in a tremulous, passion-laden whisper. “ My poor 
wronged darling !” 

The voice was the voice of Miss Powys. 

Edda remained silent, spell-bound. The beautiful 
blonde heiress knelt some minutes there in the gloom, 
weeping, sobbing stilly, and showering soft kisses on the 
supposed sleeper. Then — silently as she had come — 
she arose and glided out of the room, and Edda was 
again alone. 

She sat up in her bed and rubbed her eyes in amaze- 
ment. 

“ What does this mean ?” she ejaculated. “ That was 
Miss Powys. How many nights has she visited me in 
this manner ? Why, my hair is wet with her tears 
What does she come in here and cry for ? What does 
she kiss me for so secretly and so passionately ? Is she 
after all a precious humbug ? — and has she got a heart 
under all her ice ? — and am I a secret disgrace to her ? — - 
and is she after all my mother ? I believe I am on the 
track of my ‘ little Mrs. Brend.’ ” 


118 


THE MYSTERIES SURROUNDING EDDA. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE MYSTERIES SURROUNDING EDDA. 

Upon the morning following the singular incident 
narrated at the close of the preceding chapter, Edda 
regarded her protectress with keen and unusual watch- 
fulness. Miss Powys was colder in her manner even 
than usual. Looking upon her calm and haughty face, 
untouched by the faintest trace of passion or emotion, 
it required a bold effort of the imagination to believe her 
identical with Edda’s secret midnight visitor — to believe 
that those sapphire eyes had ever dropped tears like 
rain upon the head of her young companion — to believe 
that that suppressfed sobbing and those words of tender- 
ness had ever issued from that lovely, half-scornful 
mouth ! 

Edda almost wondered at her own audacity — but her 
belief remained unaltered. 

The girl read aloud for an hour or more, as the two 
sat in the boudoir of the banker’s heiress ; but perceiv- 
ing at last that Miss Powys was paying no attention to 
her utterances, she let her book fall idly to her lap, and 
her keen, bright gaze wandered to the lady’s face and 
settled there. 

Miss Powys presently became aware of the cool scru- 
tiny of her companion, and aroused herself with a sort 
of start, and said, with an attempt at gayety : 

“ I seem to interest you, Miss Brend.” 

“Yes,” replied Edda, “I was studying you.” 

“You flatter me, Miss Brend. But study of me will 
prove a fruitless task,” and Miss Powys smiled. “ I do 


THE MYSTERIES SURROUNDING EDDA. 


110 


not ‘ wear my heart on my sleeve.’ And so you find me 
a puzzle ?” 

“ Perhaps not more than I find everything else,” said 
Edda, with an odd little stifled sigh. “ Everything js a 
puzzle to me — and most of all myself. How I came to 
live in a world where I wasn’t wanted I cannot tell. I 
have found it a hard world enough — how hard you, Miss 
Powys, in your gilded life cannot imagine. And now I 
wonder what is to be the end of it all.” 

“ The end ! You surprise me, Miss Brend. Are you 
not happy here ?” 

“ Blissfully so,” answered Edda, with a peculiar bitter- 
ness that came strangely from her young lips. “ Of 
course my life is become a rapture. Of course I never 
wonder who my parents are — why they deserted me— 
where they live, if they do live — with a hundred other 
vain speculations. And of course I never look forward 
to the future and wonder what is to become of me when 
I leave this house. Don’t think me ungrateful, Miss 
Powys. If you are nothing to me — I mean no relation 
to me — you have shown to me a wonderful kindness 
which ought to win my undying gratitude.” 

“ In troubling yourself about your future, Miss Brend, 
you are annoying yourself unnecessarily,” said Miss 
Powys. “ When I took you into my home as my com- 
panion, I did not do it from idle caprice, and I shall 
never send you away from me. Throw aside this bitter- 
ness of yours, and be the frank, affectionate girl your 
face declares you to be naturally. Receive my friend- 
ship unquestioningly, and you shall never lose it. I will 
provide for your future.” 

“ Thank you, but I do not ask for such generosity ; I 
only want justice.” 

Miss Powys looked troubled, but the shadow passed 
quickly from her face, leaving it calm as before. 


120 


THK MYSTERIES SURROUNDING EDDA. 


“ I fear you are nursing a chimera, Miss Brend,” she 
said, coldly. “ Because you cannot obtain a full loaf of 
bread, do not reject a half loaf.” 

“ Miss Powys,” said Edda, with a startling abruptness, 
— “ did you ever have a sister ?” 

The lady started and returned Edda’s glance with one 
as keen and questioning. 

“ I had a sister once,” she acknowledged, slowly. “ She 
was older than I. She was only twenty years old when 
she died. I was then a child.” 

“ Was she ever married ?” 

The lady hesitated, her face flushing and then pa- 
ling. 

“ She was known as Miss Powys to the day of her 
death,” she finally answered. “ Excuse me, Miss Brend, 
but my sister’s early death cannot interest you, and I 
find the subject painful.” 

“ Nevertheless,” said Edda, sturdily, “I must ask you 
one more question. Was she at Racket Hall nineteen 
years ago under the name of Mrs. Brend ?” 

Miss Powys exhibited a suppressed agitation, and did 
not reply at once. But at last she said : 

“ Miss Brend, my sister was a pure and lovely girl, and 
I cannot permit even you to ask such questions concern- 
ing her. We have every reason to cherish and honor 
her memory. She was good and noble, and everyone 
loved her.” 

Edda felt an instantaneous suspicion that this older 
Miss Powys, who had died young, was the “little Mrs. 
Brend ” of Racket Hall experience, and consequently 
her own mother. Certainly Miss Powys’ hesitation and 
singular manner seemed to indicate such a possibility, 
Yet the girl was not quite satisfied. She could not 
believe that the mystery of her origin was to be easily 


THE MYSTERIES SURROUNDING- EDDA. 


121 


solved, and she would not adopt any theory except 
upon the most careful deliberation and study. 

She was silent a little while, and Miss Powys would 
have given much to have known the thoughts struggling 
under the crop of close-curling, jetty rings of hair, as 
Edda sat with bowed head. 

“I hope you begin to feel at home here, my dear Miss 
Brend,” said the lady at last, gently. 

“ As much so as I could anywhere in a place that is 
not my home,” replied Edda, wearily, raising her head. 

“ But I want you to feel that this house is your home, 
Miss Brend. I want you to run in and out of my rooms 
as a younger sister might do. I want you to feel that I 
am your best friend, and to feel confidence in me.” 

“ You are very kind. But I cannot feel that this is 
my home, since I have no real right here, Miss Powys. 
I appreciate your — your benevolence. I am sure I don’t 
know where I should go if I should fail to please you.” 

Miss Powys looked pained, and sighed. She perhaps 
expected something more from Edda than the cold, exact 
attentions of a paid companion ; but the willful little 
brunette was resolved to accord to her the strict letter, 
and that only, of what she had engaged to perform. Miss 
Powys had, in effect, totally disavowed any relationship 
with her, had repudiated her claims, and taken her into 
her employment solely from charitable motives, as was 
alleged. The little Yorkshire maiden, bred upon a 
lonely moor, but knowing life and people through 
books, could not believe that Miss Powys had befriended 
her through charity alone. She believed that she had a 
natural claim upon the banker’s daughter, and she 
cherished a secret resentment against the lady even 
while she felt drawn toward her at times by a strange 
and inexplicable yearning. 

“You are an odd, wayward sort of girl, I fancy, Miss 


122 


THE MYSTERIES SURROUNDING EDDA. 


Brend,” said Miss Powys, regarding her thoughtfully, as 
if trying to read her thoroughly. “ I like you and your 
brusque ways, and I want you to like me. I admit very 
few to my close friendship, but I should like to be friends 
with you.” 

“ My friendship is worth nothing to a lady like you, 
Miss Powys,” said Edda, composedly. “You are a 
stately white lily, and I am only a poor little prickly 
pear, growing up outside of any garden. Nobody 
claims me ; nobody wants me. I belong to nobody. 
And so, though I live in your grand house, and read to 
you, and take your money, Pm afraid I can never be 
more to you than any servant, and not half so much as 
Mrs. Catharine — Priggs. How odd that I can never 
remember her last name ! I’ll tell the truth, as the im- 
mortal parent of his country across the water said, in his 
boyhood, when he cut his father’s cherry tree — I’ll own 
up to my exact sentiments. I’d rather not promise my 
friendship.” 

The proud blonde face of Miss Powys paled a little, 
but she uttered no remonstrance or pleading. 

“As you will, Miss Brend,” she said, indifferently. 
“ Have you so many friends that you can throw away 
that I offer ?” 

A desolate sort of smile, curled Edda’s red lips. 

“ I have no friends — no friends whatever,” she said. 
“ I never knew anybody except the Nizbits and my 
governess. Mrs. Nizbit died, my governess went away 
when there was no money to pay her in advance, and 
Mr. Nizbit is an old buzzing blue-bottle without a single 
pleasant quality on which to hang a scrap of affection — 
an animated blue-pill — a walking bottle of salts — a 
whining, peevish old hypochondriac. I must have been 
reduced indeed for objects of affection to have loved 
him ! My only friends were the birds, the flowers, and 


F.DDA TIKAIJS SOMF-TUING ABOUT HER ORIGIN. 



THE MYSTERIES SURROUNDING EDDA. 


123 


the wide dreary moor, which at times I hated as if it 
were a living enemy, and again loved as a friend.” 

“ Those days are over for you,” said Miss Powys, 
startled at the girl’s passionate tones ; “ don’t think of 
them, Ed — Miss Brend. Let a new life begin here for 
you. Forget this mystery of your life, begin anew as 
my companion and friend, and I will make your future 
my charge. You shall never know again the restlessness 
and unsatisfied longings of your old life.” 

“Can you change my nature, Miss Powys ? My life 
has always been drear enough, but I never knew, save 
from books, that there were happier lives. I never saw 
a happy, refined home. I have been cruelly wronged, 
and I’H never forgive the wrong while I live — never ! 
What right had she — my mother — to abandon me 
utterly to strangers from my very birth ? She saved 
herself care, annoyance, possibly disgrace, by ridding 
herself of me — but at what cost ? I never knew caresses 
— no one ever called me loving names — no one ever 
cared whether I lived or died. I have been cheated, 
defrauded ! I have gr own up like some worthless weed, 
and I dare say there were some who knew of me and 
watched over me from afar, who, if they ever prayed at 
all, prayed that I might die !” 

“ Miss Brend, you frighten me — ” 

“Ah, you know nothing of a stormy nature like 
mine !” cried Edda, her eyes flashing, her lips quivering. 
“ Rejected from my birth, cast forth by the arms that 
should have sheltered me, hated, wronged — can you 
wonder that I hate my own parents, and that I would 
like them to know the anguish I have suffered? And 
yet there never was a girl on earth who would have re- 
paid love and care with greater love than I would have 
given. I hope my mother is dead. To know that she 
would have come for me some time would make my 


124 : 


THE MYSTERIES SURROUNDING EDDA. 


grief less bitter. Yet, I dare say, she abandoned me 
utterly at my birth, angry at me that I did not die when 
I was born.” 

Miss Powys’ face began to reflect the girl’s agitation. 

“ Miss Brend, you are cruel,” she said. “ I — I knew 
your mother. You force the confession from me. She 
was pure, and worthy your respect. She was a lawfully- 
wedded wife.” 

“ Was that her real name— Mrs. Brend ?” 

“ Yes. Her husband’s name was Brend. Do not 
question me further. I can only tell you that she was 
unhappy in her marriage, that before your birth she lost 
her husband, and that the manner of his loss was to her 
a life-long horror and shame.” 

“ Was he a good man ?” 

“ No, no,” said Miss Powys, in a passionate voice. “ He 
was base, wicked, vile. She lost him in a manner that 
shocked her into death. He — he’s dead now, I sup- 
pose — ” 

“What! You do not know it ? He may live !” 

“Yes, he may be living, but he’s far away from here. 
He’ll never be seen in England again. He dare not 
come back.” 

“ And he’s my father ?” 

“ Your own father, Miss Brend.” 

“I have reason to be proud of my parentage,” said 
Edda, in a burning sarcasm. “ My father was a villain. 
My mother chose to visit his faults upon my head, and 
proceeded to rid herself of me, just as if I were not her 
child also as well as his ! I hope that she was happy. 
And so she was his lawful wife? Was the marriage 
acknowledged ?” 

“ Certainly. Was not the presence of Mrs. Brend at 
Racket Hall as Mrs. Brend an acknowledgment of the 
marriage ! My dear, you are cruelly hard upon your 


THE MYSTERIES SURROUNDING EDDA. 


125 


mother. She had her faults, but you, her child, can 
surely pity and pardon them. You cannot know what 
she suffered.” 

“ Miss Powys, your tone seems actually pleading. 
And to me, a discarded waif whom nobody thinks worth 
claiming ! If my mother lives, I hope she is happy, as 
I am. One question more, am I like my father?” 

“ No, I should hope not. . You have inherited certain 
of his features — or a modification of them — but, thank 
God ! you have nothing of his nature. You are 
frank, straightforward, outspoken, truthful and warm- 
hearted — ” 

“Like my mother!” interposed Edda. “She must 
have been warm-hearted.’ ’ 

Miss Powys averted her face, and the girl could not 
see the effect of her words. 

“We will close the discussion .here,” said the lady, 
calmly, after a long pause. “ It is probable, Miss Brend, 
that you will never solve this mystery of your origin, 
and I advise you to give over the attempt. Be contented 
here. I hope that in time you may grow to love me, 
and while I live I will keep you near me. You will be 
provided for in my will, so that at my death you will 
not be left penniless. I shall make provision for you as 
the daughter of a school-friend to whom I was deeply 
attached. That explanation to others hereafter must 
suffice for you now and always. I should have told you 
when you came what I say to you now — as the daugh- 
ter of my school-friend you are an especial charge to 
me, and I shall always treat you as if you were my own 
younger sister.” 

“ I hope to prove sufficiently grateful to you, Miss 
Powys,” replied Edda, with a dreary smile that must 
have touched the lady, though the latter made no sign. 
“ I may not be dependent upon you always, however. 


126 


THE MYSTERIES SURROUNDING EDDA. 


Even to me, life may have something pleasant in pros- 
pect. And yet it is not probable. Gentlemen are pru- 
dent and cautious. They will not marry a woman of 
doubtful origin like me.” 

“ You are too young to think of marriage, Miss Brend. 
Years hence will be soon enough for such thoughts.” 

Edda’s dark face flushed rosily for an instant. Evi- 
dently she did not quite share Miss Powys’ opinion. 

“ I have no right to such thoughts at all,” the girl 
said presently. “ I shall never marry. Who would 
want me ? As Mr. Nizbit’s niece, with a supposed 
known origin, I was at least to be respected. But now, 
whatever dreams I may have cherished, I cast them from 
me utterly. I shall spend the remainder of my life as I 
have so far lived — alone.” 

The utter dreariness of her tones suggested hidden 
suffering. A little later she excused herself and with- 
drew, proceeding to her own room. 

When Miss Powys found herself alone she wrung her 
hands silently, but with an intensity of despair of which 
no one would have deemed her capable. 

“ How she suffers!” she whispered. “And my lips 
are sealed ! She can never know the truth — never ! 
Why did she speak of marriage, and, blush and tremble ? 
Has she learned the lesson that must come to all women 
— the fateful, fatal lesson of love ? I could think so. 
Does she love Gascoyne Upham ? I would rather see 
her dead than married to him. Or has she met some one 
on that wild Yorkshire moor whom she loves? I am 
sure that she has left a lover behind her. I must 
know.” 


A FIRST TRIUMPH FOR ODO. 


127 


CHAPTER XII. 

A FIRST TRIUMPH FOR ODO. 

If Lord Ronald was surprised at the unexpected ap- 
pearance of the Earl of Charlewick in the park and at 
that hour, he was even more astonished at the counte- 
nance thus presented to his view in the pale glare of the 
moonlight. All that he had ever heard of evil in connec- 
tion with the name of Lord Odo Charlton recurred viv- 
idly to his mind now as he looked upon the evil, sneering, 
mocking face of his relative. He recoiled as from an 
embodied pestilence. 

The earl, still keeping his hand on his nephew’s 
shoulder, sent a peering, suspicious glance around him 
into the further shadows of the park. Lord Clair and 
Miss Clair were out of sight and hearing. Uncle and 
nephew were alone. 

“So I’ve found you in my grounds again, have I ?’’ 
exclaimed the earl, in a voice quivering with suppressed 
wrath ; “ and after the warning I gave you, too ? I have 
half a mind to have you horsewhipped off my prem- 
ises.” 

Lord Ronald flung off his uncle’s grasp and retreated 
a step. 

“ Not so fast,” said Ronald. “ It would not be well 
even for you, Earl of Charlewick, to lay violent hands 
upon me !” 

“ I witnessed half your interview with that girl,” said 
Lord Charlewick, hoarsely. “ I was in the white pavil- 
ion when she left the house. I saw and followed her. I 
overheard half your sweet endearments, your silly, turtle- 
dove cooings !” 


128 


A FIRST TRIUMPH FOR ODO. 


“ 1 should have suspected eavesdropping to be a con- 
genial 'femployment for your lordship,” said Ronald, 
scornfully. “ You are doubtless now convinced that 
Miss Clair will not fall an easy prey to your blandish- 
ments.” 

The earl reined in his anger with a strong hand. 

“ You can have but little self-respect since you persist 
in holding Hellene Clair to a promise given under such 
different circumstances,” he sneered. “ The girl’s not 
yet eighteen, romantic, foolish, and carried away by the 
novelty of a first lover. Once let her feel her power, 
once let a second and richer lover kneel at her shrine 
with flatteries, and, like all women, she’ll prove false. 
But this stolen meeting with her will never be repeated. 
Her credulity shall no longer be imposed upon. She 
shall not be held by you to the continuance of an en- 
gagement which sooner or later must prove irksome 
to her. I heard Lord Clair’s remarks to you, and 
I highly commend his parental care of his daugh- 
ter. He has his own plans for her, his own ambi- 
tions, and he will not suffer her to throw her life away 
upon a beggar. If necessary he will force her to obey 
him.” 

“You seem to be deep in Lord Clair’s confidence.” 

“ I am. Know, young man, that I am also a suitor of 
Miss Clair, and if the weak and helpless daughter favors 
you, the powerful father favors me. She will become 
my wife.” 

“You deceive yourself, sir,” said Lord Ronald, sternly 
“ In this country no lady can be forced to marry a man 
whom she dislikes. Let me pass.” 

“ Not yet,” declared the earl, violently. “ I hated you 
from the first moment I saw you, Ronald Charlton, as 
once I hated your father. He was his father’s pet and 
pride from the hour of his birth. And they tell me that 


A FIRST TRIUMPH FOR OHO. 


m 


my father loved you as well. He may have doted on 
you, but he left you a beggar. I wonder he don’t rise 
from his tomb because things have turned out so differ- 
ently from his wishes. What a look of absolute horror 
that was upon his face when I forced my way into his 
very presence, and he sprang up in his bed and shrieked 
my name ! Death ! He believed and hoped I had been 
murdered twenty years ago. He was angry because I 
had dared to live and to return to oust his beloved 
grandson from his expected inheritance. Bah ! I hated 
him — my father — I hated my brother, and I hate you ! 
There’s none of your tame English blood in my veins. 
I think and feel more in a moment than you can in a 
year. Better take yourself out of my path, young man, 
for when Odo, Earl of Charlewick, hates, he hates unto 
death !” 

He hissed the last words between his shut teeth, and 
his glittering, black eyes glared upon his nephew. 

“ I see no reason for all this fury and frothing,” said 
Lord Ronald, quietly. “ I intruded upon your grounds 
to hold a parting interview with Miss Clair, and I now 
take myself off. Have you more to say ?” 

He made a, movement of retreat. 

“ Hold ! I have more to say. You see no reason for 
my anger? Have I not stood under the trees yonder, 
and seen you kiss the woman I intend to marry ? Did I 
not see you clasp her to your breast ? Death ! I hate 
you ! And I love this girl. The spark of opposition has 
fired my heart. I warn you to keep clear of me and of 
her. There shall be no rivalry between us, Ronald 
Charlton. You must give her up at once and com- 
pletely.” 

Lord Ronald smiled disdainfully. 

“ Do you suppose, Earl of Charlewick, that with my 
expected inheritance I have lost my manhood ? Miss 


130 


A FIRST TRIUMPH FOR ODO. 


Clair loves me, and no one shall part us. True, I am 
poor, but poverty is no crime. I wish to have no quarrel 
with you, sir ; but do not place me on the defensive. 
And do not war upon Miss Clair. I warn you that any 
persecution of her, by you or by her father, at your in- 
stigation, will bring trouble only upon one person — 
yourself.” 

“ As how, permit me to ask, my doughty nephew ?” 
sneered Lord Charlewick. 

“I know your nature,” said Ronald, coolly. “Your 
undisciplined character, your violent temper, and bursts 
of fury. You are like a volcano, ready to break forth at 
any moment in devastation. Knowing you as I already 
do, I know that the past twenty years of your life — 
wherever it has been spent — has not been unmarked by 
violence and wrong-doing. I know that this term of 
twenty years in your life holds secrets you would not 
have revealed for mines of wealth — ” 

“ Ah /” breathed Lord Charlewick, hoarsely, clench- 
ing his hands, and holding in his passions as the master 
holds his savage hounds in leash. 

“I see that I have touched you. You start. You be- 
tray yourself. You have secrets, then, as I suspected ? 
This hidden past of yours holds buried in its depths a 
crime, perhaps ? Well, I swear to you, Lord Charlewick, 
that if you molest Miss Clair, if you persecute her with 
your attentions, if you persist in your pretensions to her 
hand in marriage, I will unearth this secret of yours, and 
at all cost to myself and name blazon it to the world.” 

The earl gave utterance to a low, growling sound, 
grating his teeth like a wild beast beside himself with 
rage. 

“ You think that because the detectives failed to trace 
you out before, they would fail again,” continued Lord 
Ronald, quietly. “ They would go to work now in a 


A FIRST TRIUMPH FOR ODO 


131 


different way. I should bid them trace back your career, 
step by step, from the moment of your appearance at 
Charlewick, a week ago. They should find whence you 
came, from what station, what port. Step by step they 
would go back in your history until they arrived— at 
what ? Your secret ! Do not push me to this extremity. 
I would keep the title borne by so many of the race of 
Charlton pure and unsullied still in the eyes of the 
world. I would not pry into the past to protect myself 
even — but I will defend Miss Clair at any and every 
cost.” 

His voice rang out sternly, and there was a look upon 
his face that declared him terribly in earnest. 

The earl’s swarthy face grew livid ; his eyes blazed 
like false beacons. Rage held him speechless. 

“You have brought on this crisis,” resumed Lord 
Ronald. “ You have driven me at bay. And since you 
have provoked matters thus far, I will carry them to 
conclusion. Before I go hence this night I shall have 
your solemn promise to withdraw your pretensions as a 
suitor of Miss Clair, or I'leave you only to begin an in- 
vestigation into your past which shall end — you best 
know where ! I wait your answer !” 

“ My answer ? It is here !” 

With the spring of a panther, Lord Charlewick 
hurled himself upon his nephew, planting a blow from 
his stone-like fist squarely between Lord Ronald’s eyes. 
The young man dropped to the ground as if shot. 

The earl, breathing hoarsely, looked peeringly around 
over his shoulders. Then he knelt down by the pros- 
trate form, and felt of Ronald’s pulse and put his hand 
upon his heart. 

“He’s not dead. He’s only stunned. The blow I 
gave him would have felled an ox. He did not expect 
a direct assault, and in my quickness and the unexpect- 


132 


A FIRST TRIUMPH FOR ODO. 


edness of the blow lay half my advantage. He would 
be a formidable antagonist in a fair and square fight. 
He’d defend himself like a lion. He will not recover 
consciousness for some time. What shall I do with him? 
Leave him to recover his senses, hunt out my past, drag 
to light the hideous secret? — No, no ! I must protect 
myself at all hazards. I must rid myself of the danger 
his life threatens to me. He shall not unearth my secret 
— never ! He must die !” 

He looked over his shoulder at the moonlit lake. 
There were capacities for evil in his breast which even 
his keen-sighted father had not fathomed. In the twenty 
years of mystery from which he had just emerged, with- 
out bringing with him a trace of where those years had 
been spent, nor how, his early passions had developed 
from the young sapling into the great and deadly full- 
blown upas tree. He did not seem to scruple even to 
murder. Somewhere among his Spanish ancestors 
there must have been a brutish, half-savage matador, 
and Odo, Earl of Charlewick, had inherited his most 
brutal characteristics. 

The sight of the water was suggestive. He ran to 
the boat-house and brought out a small row-boat. He 
brought this to the spot on the beach where Ronald lay, 
gathered up the prostrate figure of his nephew, thrust 
him into the boat, and rowed out into the middle of the 
lake. 

And here he rested on his oars, again listening. 

The leaves that stirred in the wind, the faint ripple of 
the waters on the beach, the call of a bird, all these 
seemed the utterances of secret watchers of his crime. 
For some moments he waited thus, watchful, vigilant, 
and then, scoffing at his fears of detection, he lifted the 
senseless form of his nephew in his arms. 

The next moment he dropped the body pf Lord 


A FIRST TRIUMPH FOR ODO. 


133 


Ronald overboard, and it fell into the waters with a dull 
splash. 

Then, without a second’s delay, he rowed back to the 
boat-house, leaped ashore, and plunged into the park, 
hastening rapidly homeward. 

“ I might have made the thing surer,” he thought, as 
he hurried onward, “but he’s too deeply stunned to be 
revived by the water. And it would have taken a deuced 
amount of nerve to linger longer in that moonlit spot of 
water. But he’s safe enough. He’ll drown without a 
struggle.” 

The earl had scarcely disappeared amid the shadows 
when Hartson the lawyer came hurrying out upon the 
beach. He had followed Lord Ronald from the inn, 
as the reader knows, and had been searching for him, 
harassed by the presentiment of evil we have mentioned. 
He had witnessed from the path along which he had 
been approaching, the later operations of Lord Charle- 
wick, and with a shock of horror had more than compre- 
hended them. He believed that the earl had murdered 
his nephew. With a wild, half-suppressed cry, he ran to 
the boat-house, pushed out and sprang into the boat, 
seized the oars, and rowed out into the centre of the tiny 
lake. 

His movements were expeditious, and he arrived at the 
scene of the intended drowning at the moment when 
Lord Ronald arose to the surface of the water the second 
time. 

Grasping the young lord’s dripping locks of hair in a 
frenzy, he dragged him into the boat and proceeded 
shorewards. Arrived upon the beach, he devoted him- 
self to Lord Ronald’s recovery, and was rewarded by its 
speedy occurrence. As soon as the young man was able 
to move, the lawyer assisted him slowly and by degrees 


134 


A FIRST TRIUMPH FOIJ 0D0. 


through the park to the public road, and to the inn at 
Little Charlewick. 

But Lord Ronald’s sinister experience was not yet 
over. 

The next morning he was unable to rise from his bed, 
and the next night found him struggling in the grasp 
of fever. The loss of his grandfather, the complete and 
terrible reverses he had encountered, the troubles men- 
acing Miss Clair, the attempt upon his life by the Earl 
of Charlewick, and his narrow escape from death by 
drowning — all intense mental and physical excitements — 
had weakened his naturally powerful frame, and made 
him an easy prey to a prowling disease. 

He was ill for weeks — so ill that no breath of events 
occurring in the outer world was suffered to enter his 
chamber. 

The village of Little Charlewick was vastly excited 
over his illness, but its cause did not transpire. The old 
family lawyer, loyal to the name and race of Charlewick 
still, could not bear to heap deserved ignominy upon the 
earl. Mrs. Partlet, the deposed housekeeper of Gharle- 
wick-le-Grand, came with her husband to nurse Lord 
Ronald. Sir Henry Dawlish was summoned from Lon- 
don to consult with the Little Charlewick practitioner 
who had the management of the case. Hartson was with 
the invalid nearly every day, but his visits were brief, and 
he came and went in a sorrowful silence. There were 
many anxious hearts in sore trouble for Lord Ronald, for 
he was universally loved in the village, but he did not 
die. 

As he began to recover he asked many questions con- 
cerning Miss Clair, which no one answered. But as his 
recovery advanced, and he grew more and more impa- 
tient, and a relapse was no longer feared, the doctor sig- 
nified to Hartson that the patient’s inquiries should at 


A FIRST TRIUMPH FOR ODO. 


135 


last be answered, and that no harm could now come to 
him by a disclosure of the truth. 

It was now several weeks after the fateful parting in- 
terview between Lord Ronald and Miss Clair, and the 
young lord, pale and thin and wan, sat in an easy chair 
near his window, wrapped in dressing-gown and rugs, 
and wearing on his face a troubled and anxious expres- 
sion. 

The door opened, and Hartson, fresh from his inter- 
view with the doctor, came softly in. 

Lord Ronald looked around, and held out his thin 
hand in greeting. 

“ How much longer am I to bear this suspense ?” he 
asked. “ Hartson, speak to me. Tell me, where is Miss 
Clair?" 

The lawyer drew a chair close beside that of the in- 
valid, and looked upon him with a tender sympathy that 
was almost fatherly. 

“ You must be prepared to hear bad news, Lord Ron- 
ald," he answered. “ I have not dared to tell you the 
truth before. Miss Clair is gone." 

“Gone? Of course. I knew she was going. But 
where is she gone ?" 

“No one knows, my lord. Her father took her away 
upon the morning after your last interview with her. 
They have completely disappeared.” 

“Has no letter come forme during my illness?" 

“None, Lord Ronald." 

“ Strange. Where is the earl ?" 

“ He remained at Charlewick-le-Grand a fortnight 
after his guests’ departure, with one or two servants pro- 
cured at Exeter. He learned from the doctor a week 
ago that you would live, and he then closed his house, 
and went away secretly and alone, no one knows 
whither. Probably he has joined Lord Clair and his 


136 


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 


daughter. He left a written message to you, to be given 
you when you were able to read it.” 

“ Give it to me — now.” 

The lawyer produced from his note-book a small, 
sealed slip of paper. Lord Ronald tore it open, and 
read these taunting, mocking words : • 

“My Dear Nephew: The doctor says you will 
recover, and I leave these lines to greet your return to 
life and strength. The baron has conveyed his daughter 
to a charming fastness, and I go to-day to join them in 
their secluded retreat. Do not seek to find them. They 
are beyond your powers of discovery. While you are 
wearying through the dreary days of convalescence, I 
shall be breathing words of love in Hellene’s ears, and 
urging her to escape her father’s persecutions by mar- 
riage with me. The weak fort of a girl’s will so besieged 
by determined enemies like the baron and me cannot 
long hold out. Hellene will be my bride before you 
are able to start out upon the war-path. You and I have 
fought a short but stern battle — and I have won. When 
next you see me, my fair countess will be with me. 
Addio!" 


CHAPTER XIII. 

ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 

The letter of the Earl of Charlewick, breathing inso- 
lent triumph and menace, was like a trumpet sound of 
alarm to Lord Ronald Charlton. He had had no fears 
for Hellene’s safety; the worst persecutions he had 
dreaded for her had been the urgent pleadings of her 
father, and the repeated solicitations of Lord Charlewick 
to induce her to consent to a marriage with the latter ; 
but now as in a flash of light he saw that she was threat- 


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ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 


137 


ened with actual personal peril should she persist in her 
rejection of her unwelcome suitor. The earl had not 
scrupled to attempt Ronald’s life ; he was not one to be 
balked in the gratification of any wish upon which he 
had set his heart. The young man’s soul thrilled with 
sudden and terrible apprehensions. 

He placed the letter in Hartson’s hand. The old law- 
yer read it, and then ensued a discussion between Lord 
Ronald and his adviser, during which the probable situ- 
ation of Miss Clair was considered with all its possibili- 
ties. 

“ It is true that we do not know where Miss Clair now 
is,” said Hartson, reflectively, “ but she must be easily 
found. She is probably stopping with her father in 
London at some quiet hotel, and Lord Charlewick has 
Vithout doubt domiciled himself under the same roof, 
and is paying her every attention. It’s odd that she 
has not written to you ; but she may know that you are 
ill, and she would not want her letters lying about to 
await your recovery. I dare say she’s all right and safe, 
Lord Ronald. A spirited young woman of rank and 
wealth cannot be hidden away like a dumb statue.” 

“ She would have written to me if she had not been 
deprived of her liberty,” said Ronald. “ I do not believe 
that she has ever heard of my illness. She may have 
written and her letters have been intercepted ; but I 
believe that the earl has written to me the truth. She 
is in some remote fastness — but where ?” 

“ That remains to be proved,” said Hartson, again 
perusing the letter. “ You are right, Lord Ronald. 
There’s an insolence and triumph in this letter that pro- 
claims its truth. Miss Clair is shut up somewhere by 
her father, and Lord Charlewick and the baron are try- 
ing to force her into an unwelcome marriage.” 

“ While I am chained here by physical weakness,” 


138 


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 


“ Oh, you’ll be out again in a fortnight. Lord Ronald. 
Don’t fret and worry. You want to regain your strength 
as soon as possible. While you are getting well I will 
search for Miss Clair, so that when you are able to travel 
I can place her exact address in your hands,” said Hart- 
son, cheerfully, “and you and I can go together to her 
rescue. Miss Clair will never yield to her importunate 
suitor, and she cannot be married without her own con- 
sent ; so cheer up ! We’ll find her, and if necessary for 
her future safety, you two will have to make a runaway 
match of it in Scotland.” 

The lawyer spoke with a confidence and cheerfulness 
he did not quite feel, but his aim was attained. Lord 
Ronald became more cheerful and hopeful, his face 
brightening, and a faint flush creeping back into his 
pale, thin cheeks. 

Soon after the lawyer took his departure, to enter 
npon his quest for the missing maiden or for Lord 
Charlewick. 

The great house of Charlewick-le-Grand, for the first 
time in two generations, was found to be absolutely 
closed, being left in charge of one old gardener, who slept 
in an attic at night, and worked about the lawn during 
the day. The housekeeper, the butler, all the five-and- 
twenty servants comprising the under-strata of the 
household, had departed. 

Mr. Hartson made inquiries of the gardener, a stolid, 
stupid person of limited perceptions, but discovered 
nothing. The earl had gone up to London. Miss Clair 
had gone away some weeks previous with her father 
and her maid. That was all that the gardener knew. 
Hartson next applied to Mr. Graham, the land-steward, 
who lived in a pretty cottage set in the midst of a garden 
at Little Charlewick. Mr. Graham was the only person 
who had been employed by the late earl who was retained 


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 


139 


in the employment of the present earl, and the probable 
reason for his retention was that, although he was stiff, 
reticent and uncompromising, devotedly attached to 
Ronald, and by no means an admirer of the new peer, he 
understood his business thoroughly, was shrewd, honest 
and conscientious, and his place could not be easily 
filled. 

Mr. Graham knew nothing of the earl’s movements, 
could not tell where lie had gone, or whither Lord Clair 
and his daughter had preceded him. 

Hartson sought out some of the discharged servants 
who belonged to families upon the estate or in its vicin- 
ity, but continued equally unsuccessful in his attempts 
at investigation. 

The next morning he rode over to Crediton and made 
inquiries at the station. He discovered that Lord 
Charlewick had booked himself for London, as had 
Lord Clair and Miss Clair, a fortnight previous to the 
earl’s departure. 

“ I believe that they are all up in London,” thought 
the lawyer, “ and that the talk about a remote fastness 
is all bluff. The ‘ fastness ’ is probably the earl’s town 
house.” 

He wrote a note to Lord Ronald Charlton, dispatched 
it, and took the first train up to London. He went to 
Charlewick House, Belgravia, but the house was closed, 
and it was evident that the earl had not occupied it. 
He instituted careful inquiries at the various private 
family hotels at the West End, and was fortunate enough 
to discover one at which “ Lord Clair, Miss Clair and 
servant ” had been registered some three weeks before. 

Closer inquiry, however, revealed the fact that Lord 
Clair’s party had remained at the hotel only three days, 
and had then departed ostensibly for a country seat be- 
longing to Miss Clair, and situated in Dorset. 


140 


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 


Mr. Hartson posted immediately to Dorset and to the 
seat in question. He found the place occupied by a 
tenant who had seen nothing and heard nothing of Lord 
Clair or his daughter. 

The lawyer comprehended that he had been tricked, 
and that the baron’s pretence of going to Dorset had 
been merely a cover to some deep and nefarious scheme. 
Miss Clair had been spirited away to some secluded 
spot by her father, and Lord Charlewick had joined the 
baron. 

But where was this “ fastness ” in which they had 
found refuge ? 

• The question appeared impossible of solution. 

Hartson returned to his London hotel, and to his lit- 
tle upper chamber in it, and sat down with maps to 
study out the question. He knew the names of Miss 
Clair’s estates and their whereabouts. He knew also 
that they were all leased during the period of her mi- 
nority, and that she could not domicile herself in any 
of them. He had a list also of the estates belonging to 
the Charlewick property, and to this he gave the larger 
share of his attention. 

‘‘ There are two or three leases belonging to the 
Charlewick estates that have expired, or are soon to ex- 
pire,” thought Hartson. “ There’s Racket Hail, on a 
Yorkshire moor, so black and dreary that it will be dif- 
ficult to again find a tenant for it. Graham consulted 
me about the late tenant, Nizbit, who owes two years 
rent, and by my advice Graham ejected him, it being 
clear that Nizbit never intended to pay a penny so long 
as he should occupy it. Racket Hall is empty, that I 
know. What more natural than that Lord Charlewick 
should have put the place at Lord Clair’s disposal ?” 

He acted upon his new idea at once. He traveled 
by express to Yorkshire, and to Hebden Bridge, He 


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 


141 


hired a fly and proceeded to Racket Hall, by way of 
Moor End. At that little hamlet he stopped to bait his 
horses, and entered into conversation with the garru- 
lous little landlord, who, being skillfully drawn out, told 
the story of the departure of the tenants of Racket Hall, 
garnishing the tale with expressions of his own wonder 
and surprise. 

“Why, you might have knocked me down with a 
feather, sir,” said the inn-keeper, “when Mr. Nizbit 
drove up in a fly that had come from Hebden Bridge 
to fetch him to the station along with his boxes. The 
poor gentleman was that outrageous with his vital 
organs that he moaned and groaned and smelled his 
salts and took his draughts, and you’d have thought he . 
was on his way to a horspittle, which he wasn’t, being 
as he was going up to Lunnon to his niece. The poor 
gentleman may have died on the way, being, as he told 
me, his liver and lights was all gone, and his lungs was 
a shadder. He was ejected from the house where he’d 
lived over twenty year because he couldn’t pay rent any 
longer. Did you come up to see about his sticks of fur- 
niture, sir ? They wouldn’t bring a fi’-pun note, sir.” 

“ I dare say not. But I’ve nothing to do with Nizbit. 

I am not Lord Charlewick’s land-steward or house- 
agent.” 

“No? Nizbit went off owing everybody,” said the 
aggrieved landlord, venturing to speak more freely. 

“ He’s had twenty kegs of ale out of my cellars, and never 
paid me for ’em, sir. He was a powerful ale-drinker for a 
man that had no stummick and likewise no congestion, 
as he told me himself. Perhaps, then,” he added, in- 
quisitively, “you came up to see about Miss Brend — she 
as was called Mr. Nizbit’s niece, which she didn’t favor 
him, and no one knows rightly, in my opinion, who she 


142 


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 


“ I know nothing about Miss Brend. I came up to 
see if the Hall is now occupied. Do you know if any 
new tenants have entered into possession ?” 

“I know there’s no one now at the Hall,” declared the 
inn-keeper. “ Tenants for Racket Hall won’t be easy 
found. It stands alone in the midst of a wild and lone- 
some moor, and few people would be willing to bury their- 
selves alive the year round in such a place, without they 
were poor and proud, or fugitives in hiding. I hear that 
the old earl is dead. The new earl will have to keep 
Racket Hall for a shooting-box, I fancy. Is it true, sir, 
that Lord Odo Charlton wasn’t murdered at all twenty 
years ago, and that he has come back and entered into 
possession ?” 

Hartson replied in the affirmative, and directing his 
questions yet more skillfully ascertained that no stran- 
gers had been seen at Moor End recently, and that no 
one could give him any information whatever on the 
subject in which he was interested. 

But he did not relinquish his design of visiting 
Racket Hall, and presently resumed his journey. 

He had no difficulty, having received explicit direc- 
tions, in finding the quaint old French-looking house in 
the midst of the dreary moor. He drove into the grounds 
and alighted. There, was no sign of life about the prem- 
ises. The doors were locked, the windows closely shut- 
tered. The stables were empty and appeared to have 
been long unused. Hartson knocked loudly upon the 
house-doors for admittance, and his knocks echoed for- 
lornly through the dwelling. He managed to effect an 
entrance through a kitchen window, and thoroughly ex- 
plored the house. 

It was unoccupied. The furniture remained as Nizbit 
had left it, and was meagre, rickety, and threadbare. 
Hartson found legions of empty wine and brandy bottles 


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 


143 


in the cellar, all of which had been industriously emptied 
by Mr. Nizbit in his search for health. The larder was 
empty. The drawing-room was a picture of forlornness ; 
the dining-room was dreary and barn-like. The lawyer 
shivered and went up-stairs. 

When he came to a little whitewashed room on the 
second story, with bare floor, nairow iron bedstead, and 
one narrow slit-like window, he started, believing that he 
had found traces of Miss Clair’s recent presence. 

A girl’s hair ribbon of bright scarlet lay on the bare 
deal table that had served as a dressing-bureau, and be- 
side it was a small glove. But the ribbon had been worn 
to flimsiness, and the glove had been patched and mended 
many times, and was now ragged beyond repairing. 

A small wardrobe closet opened off this nun-like cell. 
The lawyer looked in it. He discovered a faded brown 
cotton gown, a girl’s pair of small worn-out boots of 
coarse leather, and a battered old hat— all of Edda’s 
personal effects not contained in the little bundle she 
had carried in her hand when she went away. The 
articles were poorer and cheaper than most servants 
wear, and Hartson decided that they had belonged to a 
former housemaid of Nizbit’s. 

He ascended to the triple row of attics, one row 
stretching back above another, but the rooms were all 
bare and empty. 

“Well,” he said, when his explorations were ended and 
he descended the stairs, “I’ve learned one thing, and 
t-hat is that they are not here. I might have known 
that Lord Charlewick would not have Miss Clair 
brought here for security ; Graham or I would be sure 
to look for her here first of any place. They may have 
gone to Ireland, Scotland or Wales.” 

He re-entered his vehicle and drove back to Hebden 
Bridge, and returned to London. 


144 


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 


He pursued his search zealously but cautiously. Believ- 
ing himself upon the right track, he followed a party to 
Scotland, and came upon them at a hotel at Dundee, to 
find that he had pursued a London tradesman, who, with 
his daughter, was making a holiday trip to the High- 
lands. 

Upon another false scent he made a fruitless excur- 
sion into Wales, returning to London discouraged and 
disheartened. 

His next move was to visit the various metropolitan 
railway-stations. He talked with porters and guards 
and station-masters, but found no trace of those he 
sought. He visited the offices of steamers plying be- 
tween London and the Channel ports. All in vain. The 
Clairs and the Earl of Charlewick seemed literally to 
have been blotted out of existence. 

The lawyer was now in a state of intense alarm. 
All these researches had occupied him over a fortnight, 
and all that he had discovered was that Miss Clair, with 
her father and Lord Charlewick, had indubitably dis- 
appeared — and the young girl’s disappearance bore a 
decidedly sinister aspect when coupled with the earl’s 
insolently triumphant letter to Lord Ronald Charlton. 

The case was not one, Hartson felt, that could be sub- 
mitted to a detective. Miss Clair was with her father, 
and was therefore presumably safe. And Hartson, know- 
ing the chivalrous delicacy of Lord Ronald’s nature, 
knew that the young man would never bear to make 
Miss Clair the subject of speculations in the minds of 
hired strangers, except under circumstances of the most 
absolute necessity. 

“ Lord Ronald is not the man to tell even a detective 
that the father of his lordship’s "betrothed wife is a vil- 
lain,” thought the lawyer as he sat one morning in his 
upper room at his London hotel, perplexed and greatly 


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 


145 


troubled. “I am at my wit’s end. I’ve written hope- 
fully every second day to Lord Ronald, but what am I 
to write now ?” 

He opened his dispatch-box, and prepared to write a 
letter. 

He had scarcely penned the date, when a knock was 
heard upon the door. Hartson raised his eyes and bade 
the intruder enter. The door opened, and Lord Ronald 
Charlton entered the room. 

The old lawyer sprang up in surprise and delight, and 
extended his hand in greeting. 

Lord Ronald looked pale and thin ; but his manner 
was full of energy, and his step had its old springiness, 
and the eyes their olden fire. His recovery had been 
retarded by his anxieties in regard to Hellene, and his 
physician had prohibited his leaving Little Charlewick 
until this very morning. The prohibition being removed 
— because he would not submit longer to inaction — he 
had hurried up to London, and had come directly to 
Hartson. 

“ I am glad to see you looking so well, Lord Ronald,” 
said the lawyer. “ Sit down in this easy chair here. I 
had just begun a letter to you.” 

“ With good news, I hope, Hartson,” said the young 
lord, anxiously. 

“ I am sorry to say that I have no news of any kind,” 
declared Hartson. “ I can’t get any trace of Lord Clair 
or of Lord Charlewick. We have pitted against us, 
Lord Ronald, a mind of unusual keenness, foresight, 
and suspicion.” 

“ The earl ? Yes, I know. But a young lady cannot 
be hidden away beyond recovery, Hartson. You wrote 
me of your trips to Yorkshire, Scotland and Wales. 
You wrote also of your visits to the railway-stations and 
shipping offices in London. Have you thought that 


146 ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 

Miss Clair may be in London, perhaps shut up in lodg- 
ings? Lord Clair may even have taken a house some- 
where in the suburbs.” 

“ I had not thought of that,” acknowledged Hartson. 
“ I took it for granted that Miss Clair had been conveyed 
to some lonely place in some remote district. But your 
suggestion is valuable, and we will act upon it. You 
look tired with your journey, Lord Ronald. Let me 
ring for brandy and water. Did you come up to Lon- 
don alone ?” 

“ No ; I’ve got a very faithful fellow off the estate to 
attend me,” replied Ronald, as the lawyer rang the bell 
and ordered the refreshment mentioned. “ He was bar- 
man at the Marquis of Granby at Little Charlewick, and 
I find him a prince of valets. You may remember him 
— John Diggs.” 

“ Diggs !” said Hartson, with a start. “ You’ve not got 
John Diggs for a valet, I hope, Lord Ronald. You 
couldn’t have found a man in all Devonshire so unsuit- 
able for your service as that same Diggs.” 

“Why so, Hartson ?” 

“ His father was butler at Charlewick-le-Grand before 
Delaney, and was a secret sort of fellow, moody, morose 
and sullen, with bad streaks of temper at times. His 
mother was a Spanish woman, a lady’s maid of the first 
Countess of Charlewick, and nurse to Lord Odo Charl- 
ton, the present earl. This Mrs. Diggs was devotedly 
attached to her mistress, and actually adored Lord Odo 
in his infancy, boyhood and youth. She rs living still, 
as you know, although her husband is dead. She lives 
with her eldest son on the Ingle Farm. Now if her son 
is in your service, he is likely to be the spy and ally of 
Lord Charlewick.” 

Lord Ronald smiled, as he sipped the brandy and 
water which had now arrived. 


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 147 

“ It is well to be guarded,” he said, “ but it is not well 
to allow one’s guardedness to degenerate into suspicious- 
ness, Hartson. Diggs has not lived at home since his 
early boyhood, and he and his mother have quarreled 
over the father’s property, and he does not even speak 
to his brothers. He showed me a great deal of atten- 
tion during my illness, and I have faith in his affection 
for me. I’ve known John Diggs all my life, and I have 
reason to believe that he is faithful to me. I have bene- 
fited him in many ways, and he has come to me often 
for assistance which I have always given him. No, 
Hartson, my faith in Diggs cannot be shaken. What- 
ever prejudices his mother and brothers may have, he 
does not share them.” 

Hartson did not urge the point, having faith in Ron- 
ald’s own shrewdness of perception; nor was he alto- 
gether at his ease in regard to the young lord’s valet. 

“ Where is Diggs now, Lord Ronald ?” he asked. 

“In my room, near this. I ordered a room, but have 
not entered it, being impatient to see you. I am come 
to London for good, Hartson ; or if Miss Clair is not 
here, I shall make London my headquarters while I 
search for her. I am impatient to begin my search at 
once. Two heads are better than one, according to the 
old saying. While you are searching one quarter of the 
town, I will be searching a second ; and Diggs, who is 
very shrewd and keen, will explore a third. I am per- 
suaded that Miss Clair is in or near London, and we 
shall find her — unless you are unable to devote more 
time to my unprofitable affairs.” 

“ I shall not give over the search until Miss Clair is 
found,” said Hartson, decisively. “I am willing to take 
a rest from business cares, and I am anxious about her. 
But where are we to look for her ? It is pretty much 
like looking for a needle in a haystack ?” 


148 


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 


They discussed the subject for an hour or more, con- 
sidering plans and possibilities, and deciding upon a 
course of action. They were finally interrupted by the 
appearance of Lord Ronald’s valet, who came to an- 
nounce that his master’s room was ready. 

Hartson bestowed a keen scrutiny upon this new at- 
tendant of Lord Ronald, and his dissatisfaction with him 
increased into actual and downright distrust. 

John Diggs was ten years older than his young master, 
and was a tall, slim, sleek person, with black hair plas- 
tered smoothly to his head, a pair of small, downcast, 
black eyes ; a low forehead ; dark complexion ; and thin, 
tightly-compressed lips. He was dressed in a complete 
suit of black, and moved softly, with a cat-like stealthi- 
ness. His voice too was low and soft, and his glances 
were side-long and furtive. 

A Lavater would have avoided John Diggs as he would 
avoid a deadly snake ; but Lord Ronald was frank and 
unsuspicious ; he had known Diggs all his life ; he had 
heaped favors upon him ; and Diggs had always pro- 
fessed to love him with a dog-like devotion. Despite 
the man’s unpleasing and unprepossessing appearance, 
Ronald believed Diggs’ heart to be true and honest, and 
he — Ronald — would have despised himself if he could 
have allowed what he believed to be Hartson’s unrea- 
soning prejudice to come between his valet and himself. 

Lord Ronald took possession of the room that had 
been prepared for him, partook of luncheon, and soon 
after went out alone in a hansom, bent upon his re- 
searches. 

He returned before night, tired and worn and unsuc- 
cessful. 

Diggs helped him to bed, brought him a strengthen- 
ing drink, and waited upon him with a gentle unobtru- 
siveness that disarmed Hartson’s dislike of him, and 


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 


149 


which went to Ronald’s heart. Diggs’ hand on Ron- 
ald’s forehead was soft and cooling, his cat-like move- 
ments almost noiseless, his attentions timely and not 
officious. 

“ I’ve done the fellow an injustice,” thought the law- 
yer, who had just come in, also tired and disheartened, 
“ and nature did him a worse injustice still. I suppose 
x that this is not the first time a warm heart has been hid- 
den under a villain-like exterior.” 

Thanks to the care of his valet, Lord Ronald slept 
well that night, and awoke the next morning with re- 
newed strength. 

The next day he went out again alone in a hansom, 
and was absent all day, returning again at night, worn- 
out and disheartened. 

Upon the third day he walked out to Maida-Hill, 
and walked about for an hour or more, calling upon 
house-agents, and then returned to his cab and rode 
slowly up and down the suburban streets, eyeing keenly 
every one whom he beheld. 

It was his theory that Lord Clair had hired a furnished 
house near to London, and had imprisoned Hellene in 
it. Hartson shared this idea, and while Ronald was at 
Maida-Hill the old lawyer was interviewing house-agents 
at Kentish Town and in that vicinage. 

Upon the fourth day, Ronald visited other house- 
agents in the northern suburbs, and at night compared 
his experiences with the old lawyer and with Diggs, who 
showed great zeal in the cause, and was exploring Cam- 
berwell and other regions on the south side of the 
Thames. 

The fifth, sixth and seventh days were similarly spent, 
and with uniform result — a complete want of success. 
Once or twice they fancied themselves upon the right 
track, but found themselves mistaken. All this fatigue 


150 


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 


would have told cruelly upon Lord Ronald but for the 
unremitting care of his valet, and the fact that with the 
exception of an hour’s walk, which he deemed beneficial, 
he rode everywhere. 

The eighth day proved eventful. 

Hartson went out first in the morning, directing his 
steps to New Brompton. After he had departed, Lord 
Ronald studied his map of London, and Diggs respect- 
fully inquired where his master was going upon that 
day. 

“ Mr. Hartson and I have pretty well narrowed the 
search of the northern suburbs,’ ’ sighed Lord Ronald. 
“ My anxieties are growing insupportable, too. I 
ordered any letters 'to be forwarded to me from Little 
Charlewick, and though hosts of letters have come 
breathing condolence of friends for my grandfather’s 
loss, and invitations for me to visit, and all that sort of 
thing, no letter has come from her . You will still keep 
among the house-agents on the south side, Diggs.” 

“ Yes, my lord — and if I may make so bold as to sug- 
gest, sir, I’ve an idea of my own which may strike you 
favorably. You see, my lord, you have visited all the 
fashionable and middle-class suburbs. Now if Lord 
Clair and Lord Charlewick really wanted to evade your 
lordship, wouldn’t they seek a house in a more humble 
quarter — Hackney, for example. If I might suggest 
Hackney, my lord — ” 

“Your idea is good. I’ll visit Hackney, though I’ve 
no hope that any good will result from it. I fear we 
have not gone the right way to work. Perhaps they 
are not in London after all. If to-day’s search proves 
fruitless also, I shall be forced into another course of 
action.” 

Putting his map in his pocket, Lord Ronald descended 
to his waiting cab and departed for Hackney. 


ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE. 


151 


Diggs set out for the Surrey side, sleek and smooth 
and cat-like as usual, and with a peculiar contentment 
in his manner. 

A long drive brought Lord Ronald to the suburb sug- 
gested as the scene of his day’s labors. He found a 
house-agent or two, but no information. Dismissing his 
cab at a favorable spot about the middle of the after- 
noon, and stating that he would return to London by 
train, Lord Ronald walked slowly up a quiet street in the 
direction of Hackney Downs. 

That night he did not return to his hotel, and no mes- 
sage came from him. Hartson was greatly distressed, 
and Diggs the valet seemed wild with anxiety. 

The next day passed, and Lord Ronald was still ab- 
sent. 

“ He has been attacked by thieves,” said the old 
lawyer, with a desperate sort of calmness. “ He may 
have been murdered. Why did I allow him to go alone ? 
Do you know in what direction he went, Diggs ?” 

“ No, sir,” was the smooth response ; “ but I believe 
Kensington Way, sir. He was saying that if he didn’t 
make a discovery soon, he should go to work in a new 
way. Oh ! what can have become of him ? My poor 
Lord Ronald — my poor young master !” 

Another day passed, and still no tidings came of the 
young missing lord. 

Hartson secured the services of a detective in the 
search for Lord Ronald. It was discovered that the 
hansom in which he had gone out on that fatal morning 
did not belong in the neighborhood, and could not be 
traced from the adjacent cab-stands. It had been 
passing along the street, on its return journey, and 
Diggs had hailed it from his upper window. Efforts 
were made to trace it. An advertisement was published 
in the daily papers, and hand-bills were circulated call- 


152 


AN OLD ADAGE EXEMPLIFIED.' 


ing upon the cabman who drove a gentleman upon such 
a morning in August, and from the Blank Hotel to some 
unknown point, to apply at a certain address and receive 
a handsome reward ; but though several cabmen ap- 
peared, the right one did not come. 

Nothing could be discovered of the whereabouts of 
young Lord Ronald, and a pall of deepest mystery be- 
gan to enshroud his fate. Where was he ? Was he in 
hostile hands, or had thieves plundered and killed him ? 


CHAPTER XIV. 

AN OLD ADAGE EXEMPLIFIED. 

Edda Brend’s avoidance of Mr. Upham served to fan 
the flame of his passion for her. The fact that he could 
now scarcely see her alone enhanced her value in his 
eyes. He believed that Edda would gladly accept him 
and the home he had in his power to offer her. He had 
learned nothing from the girl of her own private his- 
tory, except that she had come from Racket Hall in 
Yorkshire, an address so vague as to impress him un- 
pleasantly. He believed her to be an orphan, without 
brother or sister, but he desired to hear more about her 
uncle, the society in which she had moved, her friends 
and early associations. He considered Edda’s reticence 
in regard to her history as singular in one so naturally 
frank and honest, yet he could not believe that there 
was any mystery about her origin, or that she had any 
unpleasant secret to hide. The fact, as we have before 
stated, that the proud Miss Powys had received Edda 
into her intimate companionship was a sufficient guaran- 
tee to Gascoyne Upham that Edda was of gentle birth. 

Yet he resolved to assure himself fully upon this point 


AN- OLD ADAGE EXEMPLIFIED. 


153 


before committing himself by a proposal of marriage to 
Miss Powys’ young companion. 

He had avowed to Miss Powys upon the day of Edda’s 
arrival at Cavendish Square his determination to woo 
and win the piquant little brunette. But the weeks had 
come and gone ; July had followed June, and August 
had entered full-blown upon the scene, before Mr. Up- 
ham had decided to put his fate to the test. 

It so happened that the very day upon which Lord 
Ronald Charlton so mysteriously disappeared in the 
north-east of London, was that upon which Mr. Upham 
decided to stoop from his high estate as banker’s confi- 
dential clerk, and magnanimously exalt -to a place be- 
side him the penniless young companion of his haughty 
cousin. 

He came home to dinner as usual. Mr. Powys had 
been invited out to a grand banquet at Guildhall, and 
would therefore not dine at home. Mr. Upham made 
an unusally fine toilet, and showed something of the 
sentiments agitating his manly breast in the very elab- 
oration of his neck-tie, the careful parting of his back- 
hair, the scents adorning it, and the rival scents upon 
his delicate cambric handkerchief. His dress-coat was 
faultless ; his shirt-front was ornamented with the most 
delicate embroidery. Even his long nose had a rubicund 
shine upon its inquisitive and bulbous tip ; and his 
lank, unwholsome face wore a look of abstraction as if 
he were begining to realize the importance of the heart 
he was about to lay at Edda’s feet. 

He occupied his uncle’s place at the foot of the table, 
and was rather silent throughout the prolonged dinner. 
Miss Powys, in exquisite dinner-toilet of Nile green crape 
over silk of the same pale shadowy tint, with a bunch 
of ferns at her breast and in her hair, was dazzlingly 
beautiful as usual. Edda was dressed in white, and 


154 


AN OLD ADAGE EXEMPLIFIED. 


was not less radiant in her dark tropical beauty. Her 
adorer even thought that, with her black velvety eyes 
shadowed by long curling lashes, her piquant expres- 
sion, her crop of jetty close-curling ringlets, Edda tran- 
scended in beauty any one whom he had ever seen. 

The dinner over, Edda slipped away to the dim library, 
and ensconced herself with a book in a distant recess, 
shut off from the grand apartment by a movable painted 
screen. In this little nook was a small square couch, a 
table, books and a drop-light. Edda had spent more 
than one evening here alone, her retreat unknown to Mr. 
Upham, who, not believing her to be there, had ceased 
to haunt the library. Miss Powys had signified that 
she should not require the attendance of her young 
companion upon this evening, and Edda was prepared 
to enjoy in this unthought-of retreat one of her favorite 
authors. 

She had scarcely nestled herself comfortably among 
the cushions of the sofa, behind the tall-winged screen 
which shut off the recess completely, and arranged her 
drop-light, and begun to read, when Miss Powys and 
Mr. Upham entered the library together. 

Edda’s first impulse was to reveal her presence. She 
fancied that Miss Powys had come in search of a. book, 
and that she would depart immediately with Mr. Upham, 
and so the girl continued to recline indolently in her 
hidden recess and to read. 

But Miss Powys did not search for a book. She sat 
down upon an ottoman, and Mr. Upham also seated 
himself, and quite near her. The first intimation Edda 
received of this state of affairs was after a conversation 
had been inaugurated between the cousins, and the girl’s 
escape had been rendered impossible from the nature 
and tenor of that conversation. 

“ I have asked you to grant me a private interview, 


AN OLD ADAGE EXEMPLIFIED. 


155 


Agnace,” said Mr. Upham, fingering his button-hole 
bouquet with scarcely perceptible nervousness of de- 
meanor, “ for a purpose which you can guess. It is now 
about two months since your companion, Miss Brend, ar- 
rived here. You will remember how warmly I expressed 
my admiration of her upon the evening of her first day in 
this house. lAold you then that I meant to marry her. I 
have not since changed my mind. I have studied her 
thoroughly. I find her frank, gentle, refined and well- 
bred. I asked her some leading questions about herself, 
and she referred me to you for answers. My determina- 
tion to make her my wife has become fixed.” 

Miss Powys’ proud Saxon face paled, and her breath 
seemed to come more quickly. She did not speak. 

“ Miss Brend has no fortune, to be sure,” continued 
Mr. Upham, as if combating an objection raised by his 
haughty cousin, “ but she has a bewitching beauty. I 
am not rich enough and sufficiently well-looking myself 
to expect both beauty and fortune with my bride. I 
adore beauty, and I am able to gratify my passion for 
it. I have saved up money, which, added to that I in-* 
herited, will enable me to keep up a cosy little establish- 
ment out at New Brompton say, and money with my 
wife is not a prime necessity to me. And so, Agnace, I 
repeat now in utter seriousness what I said to you two 
months ago in the heat of impulse — I want to marry your 
companion.” 

“ Well,” said Miss Powys, calmly, yet with painful 
underlying eagerness, “ what does Miss Brend say ?” 

“ Oh, I’ve said nothing to her yet on the subject. I pre- 
ferred to talk with you first. The truth is, Agnace, as I 
have said, I can dispense with fortune with my wife, but 
beauty and good birth I insist upon. Miss Brend’s 
beauty is undeniable. But how about her birth ?” 

Edda started at this point in her distant recess, and 


156 


AN OLD ADAGE EXEMPLIFIED. 


crested her little dusky head, pale and eager. She had 
no thought now of flight. She believed that she had a 
right to listen to what was now said of herself. It is doubt- 
ful if she could have risen had she tried. Her heart beat 
wildly, her limbs were all as if chained to the couch. 

“ Why do you apply to me for information concerning 
Miss Brend’s birth?” demanded Miss Powys, steadily, 
looking at Mr. Upham with a keen, scrutinizing gaze. 

“ Because you must know all about the girl you have 
taken into your companionship,” declared Mr. Upham. 
“ Of course she must be of good family, but in answer to 
my inquiries, put in the most delicate manner, she has 
given me the most unsatisfactory replies. All I know of 
her is that she came from Racket Hall, Yorkshire. 
What part of Yorkshire? What sort of place is Racket 
Hall ? Who are Miss Brend’s relatives ?” 

“ Miss Brend is the daughter of a former girl friend 
of mine,” said Miss Powys, coldly. “ I was not ac- 
quainted with Miss Brend when she came here, but took 
her under my protection for her mother’s sake.” 

* “ Who was her mother ?” demanded Upham, abruptly. 

“ Her name was Mrs. Brend,” was the evasive response. 

“ Yes, of course — but her maiden name ? Was she of 
good family ? Was she of gentle birth ?” 

“ Yes — yes,” said Miss Powys, conveniently ignoring 
the first question. “ She was of excellent family. She 
lost her husband before her child was born.” 

“And the mother is dead also. Well, if one marries 
poor it is better to marry an orphan,” said Mr. Upham. 
“One will not have a lot of poor relations on one’s 
hands to start with. But I don’t seem to advance in 
my efforts to gain knowledge. The name of Brend is 
not familiar to me — and yet there was a young gentle- 
man of that name whom we used often to meet of an 
•evening at Mrs. Gerald Mortimer’s a great many years 


157 


AN OLD ADAGE EXEMPLIFIED. 

ago. He was a dark, romantic mysterious sort of fel- 
low, whom the Mortimer girls would have it was some- 
body of consequence in disguise. His name was George 
— no, Henry Brend.” 

“ You have a good memory.” 

“ I have ; besides, I was jealous of the fellow. I 
fancied that he was sweet upon you, Agnace, although 
you were a mere child at the time. Whatever became 
of him, by the way ?” 

Miss Powys’ lips wore a strange, inflexible expression, 
as she replied, slowly: 

“ He died, I believe. He died many years ago, I have 
heard.” 

“ Is your little Miss Brend any relation to him ?” 

“She is his daughter !” 

“ His daughter ! Strange ! Well, he was certainly a 
gentleman. He spent his money like a prince, but there 
was something wrong about him. Agnace, was — was 
Miss Brend’s mother legally married to him ?” 

Miss Powys’ cheeks flushed hotly. 

“Of course. How dare — She was my friend, Gas- 
coyne. She was pure and good as a little child.” 

“ Who was she ?” 

“ I am not at liberty to tell you. I cannot betray a 
secret entrusted to me.” 

“ Then there is a secret in the case ?” said Upham, in 
a -tone of annoyance. “What is it, Agnace ? I hate 
secrets in such connection. Is there any stain on Miss 
Brend’s lineage ?” 

“ If there were, what then ? You would decline to 
press your suit, perhaps ?” 

“ I won’t marry proverty to find myself linked with 
disgrace,” said Mr. Upham, sulkily. “ Is this girl one 
whom, with her birth and lineage, you would be will- 
ing to receive as your cousin, Agnace ?” 


158 


AN OLD ADAGE EXEMPLIFIED. 


Miss Powys hesitated. Then, very pale again, she said : 

I would never receive her as your wife, Gascoyne, 
never/’ 

“Why not? What has she done ?” 

“ Nothing in herself, poor child. But if you insist 
on a stainless lineage and good birth in the woman 
you will marry, Gascoyne, you will not marry Miss 
Brend,” said Miss Powys, her sapphire eyes glittering, 
her manner indicating strong repressed excitement. 
“She is not of good birth. For her mother’s sake I 
befriend her, but there hangs over Edda Brend a cloud 
of disgrace and ignominy — not her fault, poor girl ; yet 
hers must be the chiefest suffering. No man in Eng- 
land, where birth is considered before beauty or for- 
tune, will want to call her wife. She was set apart from 
her birth for a fate of misery. She will never marry.” 

Mr. Upham looked astonished, even stupefied. 

“I can hardly credit all this,” he exclaimed. “The 
girl has a patrician look — she’s proud, and well-bred 
and refined. But yet disgrace — I tell you, Agnace, I’ll 
not give her up lightly. I’ll assure myself of the fact 
beyond all manner of doubt. I’ll unearth the reputa- 
tion of Henry Brend and his wife. I’ll know — ” 

“Take my word for it,. Gascoyne, and let the matter 
end here. Miss Brend is not a fitting wife for you, if 
you want a wife of good family. I know whereof I speak. 
You would be horrified to learn the true story of the 
origin of Edda Brend. She does not know it. She 
never will know it. The truth would destroy her, with 
that sensitive, spirited nature of hers. Her life has been 
dark, and will be dark to the end. *1 wish, for her own 
sake, she would enter a convent. But, Gascoyne, you 
must not, shall not marry her — ” 

Edda made a sudden and violent movement at this 
juncture, and the screen toppled over, falling to the floor. 


A DECLARATION OF WAR. 


159 


CHAPTER XV. 

A DECLARATION OF WAR. 

The sudden revelation of Edda’s presence in the library 
was as unexpected to Edda herself as to Miss Powys and 
to Mr. Upham. But, the revelation being made, nothing 
remained for Edda but to take the matter coolly, and to 
put the best face possible upon it. Being a remarkably 
cool-headed young lady, she was not at all abashed or 
alarmed. She sprang up lightly from the recessed sofa, 
picked up the fallen screen with a delightfully noncha- 
lant air, and came forward with her quick, springing 
step, uttering an apology for the abrupt and uncere- 
monious announcement of her presence. 

“ I came in here to read directly after I left the dining- 
room,” she explained. “ I should have told you I was 
here when you first came in, Miss Powys, if I had sup- 
posed that you were going to talk secrets ; but I thought 
that you had come in for a book and would go out 
again immediately. After your conversation with Mr. 
Upham began, and I heard myself under discussion, my 
flight became impossible, as you will understand. And 
so I have been a listener — no, a hearer — of the entire 
interview between you. I consider that I have a right 
to know much of what has been said, and confess frankly 
that I have heard all.” 

“ All ?” said Miss Powys, with pale lips. 

“All ?” echoed Mr. Upham, his sickly-hued face flush- 
ing. “Then you know, Miss Brend, that I love you, and 
that I desire to make you my wife ?” 

“ Yes,” said Edda, with provoking coolness, “ provided 
my references are satisfactory.” 


160 


A DECLARATION OF WAR. 


“ Miss Brend — I do not understand—” 

“Well, I do, Mr. Upham,” interrupted Edda, keenly, 
a red sparkle in her black, velvety eyes. “I heard what 
you said, and it amounted to this: You would bestow 
upon me the glory of your name, the right to scold your 
servants and preside at your home-dinners, if I could 
prove that my grandfather didn’t work for his living. I 
don’t know whether he did or not. He may have been 
a blacksmith, a baker, or a farm laborer, but I don’t 
suppose he was anything half so respectable. It’s more 
likely he lived and died a pauper ‘gentleman’ in some 
work-house union. Under this distressing uncertainty, 
I think you owe it to yourself and your highly-respect- 
able ancestors to withdraw your misplaced affections as 
soon as possible, and to refrain from making me any 
offer of marriage.” 

The girl’s dark face was all a-sparkle ; her eyes and 
lips were glowing ; she looked so saucy and bewitching 
that Miss Powys’ face softened, and Mr. Upham re- 
garded Edda with an open admiration. 

“ Pardon me, Miss Brend,” said her suitor, “ but I 
can’t believe all this. You are chaffing me. Why, you 
have the look, the air pf a patrician born. Your hands 
and feet are of aristocratic smallness and delicacy. You 
have the appearance — you are a thorough-bred lady.” 

“A princess in disguise !” said Edda, half mockingly. 
“Your compliments are exquisite in their delicacy, Mr. 
Upham, and I’m charmed, I’m sure. But I’m not fond 
of sweets. If you will excuse me, Miss Powys, I will 
retire.” 

“ No, no,” said Upham, hastily. “ I beg you will re- 
main, Miss Brend. You have heard so much that you 
cannot refuse to hear more. Agnace, 1 beg you to ask 
her to stay.” 

Edda turned an inquiring glance upon the lady — a 


A DECLARATION OF WAR. 


161 


glance in which was an entreaty to be allowed to depart. 
But Miss Powys paid no heed to the silent request. 

“You will remain, Miss Brend,” she said, quietly, but 
with decision. “ If Mr. Upham has anything further to 
say to you, I desire especially that it be said before 
me.” 

Edda resigned herself to her fate. 

Mr. Upham was silent for some minutes, seeming em- 
barrassed. Possibly the presence of a third person — and 
one so experienced in the matterof proposals of marriage 
as Miss Powys — was not especially delightful or encour- 
aging to him. It is possible that he would have pre- 
ferred to see Edda alone, and to have whispered sweet 
nothings in her ears, and clasped her fondly to his manly 
breast — had she permitted such a liberty — and exhibited 
something of the enthusiasm of a lover. But then he 
was not a love-sick youth, and it is far more likely that 
he preferred to make love in a manner befitting a sober, 
middle-aged banker’s clerk, used to the exactness of 
figures, and a strict adherent of rules and routines. And 
yet, granting that the latter supposition be true, even a 
middle-aged banker’s clerk might hesitate to make love 
to a young woman with especially keen and cool black 
eyes, and with a pair of equally embarrassing sapphire 
eyes contemplating him. But Mr. Upham commanded 
his forces, and pushed forward to the charge with all 
the bravery of the immortal Six Hundred. 

“ Miss Brend,” he .said, polishing his long nose agi- 
tedly with his cambric handkerchief, “you have learned 
from my confidences with my cousin tbfat I love you. I 
am a man of good family, good position, some fortune. 
I cannot afford a house in Cavendish Square, with horses, 
footmen, boxes at the opera, and the thousand luxuries 
familiar to my uncle and Miss Powys. But I can afford 
a little villa out at Brompton, if you like, with two or 


162 


A DECLARATION OF WAR. 


three maids, and a pony-chaise for you, and occasional 
summer trips upon the continent, and I can give you a 
life of ease and independence. I ask you to marry me. 
Will you kindly refer me to your guardian — the uncle 
with whom you lived, until you came here ?” 

“ Such reference is entirely unnecessary, Mr. Upham,” 
said Edda, gravely. “ I am sensible of the honor you 
do me in making this offer, but I cannot accept it.” 

Miss Powys started, leaning forward eagerly. 

“Not accept it?” said Mr. Upham, blankly. 

“ No, sir,” said Edda, with grave, sweet courtesy. “ It 
would not be just to you. You heard what Miss Powys 
said ? I will never go to any man’s home as his wife 
with a cloud of ‘ shame and disgrace- about me. You 
speak of my guardian and uncle. He was neither the 
one nor the other. He was simply a broken-down gen- 
tleman who, with his wife, took me in, a stray waif, for 
pay. He never knew who I was. I don’t know my- 
self. I am frank, you see. I owe it to you to be frank, 
for you have said you love me. You would do as well 
to marry some one out of the Foundling Hospital. I’ve 
no money, no relations, no long pedigree — no pedigree 
at all. All I’ve got is. my own self.” 

Mr. Upham looked stupefied. Certainly he had not 
bargained for a wife of doubtful origin, but Edda’s 
frankness touched him. 

“I can’t credit this account of yourself, Miss Brend,” 
he said, soberly. “ Give me leave to investigate your 
history for you — give me leave as your promised hus- 
band. You have been wronged and cheated — ” 

“So I have,” said Edda, “but not as you think. Let 
my origin remain in obscurity, Mr. Upham. I prefer to 
make my own investigations.” 

“ A girl is not fitted to battle with the world,” said 
Upham. “ I believe that you are entitled to money, 


A DECLARATION OF WAR. 


163 

Miss Bread. I remember your father — a mysterious, 
dark-browed, dashing fellow, like the hero of a romance. 
He spent money lavishly and was supposed to be rich. 
If he’s dead you may be an heiress, wronged of your 
inheritance.” 

“ I have been cheated of more than money,” said 
Edda, gloomily. “ I never had a home or friends. But 
enough of this, Mr. Upham. Let my rights and wrongs 
resrfn obscurity. I cannot marry you for the reason I 
have given. Shall I add another reason ? I do not love 
you.” 

“ But love will come with time,” urged her suitor. 
“ I will solve the mystery of your origin, and then you 
will reward me with your affection.” 

“ Don’t deceive yourself. I shall never love you, Mr. 
Upham.” 

Miss Powys drew a long sigh of relief. 

The banker’s confidential clerk looked at Edda 
sharply. 

“ Perhaps you love another ?” he said, suspiciously. 

To his surprise — to Miss Powys’ surprise — Edda did 
not deny the charge. To the contrary, she blushed rosy 
red in spite of herself. 

“You do love, some one else, then, Miss Brend ?” in- 
quired Mr. Upham, jealously. 

“ When did I appoint you my father confessor, Mr. 
Upham ?” returned Edda, recovering herself. “ A little 
while since you paid a delightful tribute to the delicacy 
of my members and my general good looks. Did you 
consider yourself a Christopher Columbus, and that my 
beauty belonged to you by right of discovery ?” and her 
voice was full of gentle sarcasm. “ We will drop this 
discussion here, if you please, and now. I’ve said no. 
Isn’t that enough ?” 

Such a plump, decisive negative ought surely to have 


164 


A DECLARATION OF WAR. 


sufficed a man of spirit, but a new and stirring passion 
— that of jealousy — was at work in Mr. Upham’s heart. 
The atmosphere of mystery surrounding Edda served to 
imflame his love. He saw grand possibilities behind 
that mystery — possibilities of wealth, aggrandizement, 
and social distinction. Remembering Henry Brend and 
his apparent wealth, hearing that he was dead, he leaped 
to the conviction that Edda had been cheated out of 
her father’s property, and he experienced an ardent de- 
sire to be the champion who should instate her in her 
rights. 

The strong probability — considered in the light of 
that vivid blush — that Edda loved some one else, scarcely 
dampened his ardor. If so, that love was only another 
obstacle to surmount. 

“ I will not accept a refusal, Miss Brend,” said Upham, 
after consideration. “ If you have experienced any girl- 
ish fancy for some one you have known upon that wild 
Yorkshire moor where you were bred, you are sure to 
outgrow it in your broader life in town. I do not ask 
you to love me all at once. I will win you by my devotion 
to your cause. I will restore to you your -birthright, 
and claim you for my reward. It’s a hard thing for a 
woman to live under a shadow as you . are living. Your 
whole life will be blighted unless some friend like me 
becomes your champion. Agnace,” and Mr. Upham 
turned to his haughty cousin, “ you must know Miss 
Brend’s history. You can explain the mystery. What 
is it?” 

“ Miss Brend has already declined you and your 
championship, Gascoyne,” said Miss Powys, coldly. 
“Her history is nothing to you.” 

“By Heaven, it is !” asserted Mr. Upham, with heat. 
“ I shall marry Miss Brend, despite her refusal just now. 
Many a man has been rejected, and yet won his love at 


A DECLARATION OF WAR. 


165 


last by sheer persistency. I shall win for better reasons 
still. Miss Brend cannot refuse me when I clear her 
name from all shadow of ancestral disgrace. Agnace, 
are you trying to' shield the memory of Henry Brend ? 
You were but a young girl — a mere child — when you 
knew him. I was jealous of him because he seemed to 
worship you after a mad fashion. But that was soon 
over. He went away suddenly, leaving you to wear the 
willow. Now, if Miss Brend is his daughter, he must 
have been married at that very time — or was he a wid- 
ower ?” 

Miss Powys arose with hauteur. 

“ Excuse me if I refuse to submit to this cross-examin- 
ation,” she said. “ Mr. Brend is dead. Let his memory 
die too.” 

Mr. Upham’s face flushed, as he cried out : 

“ I have sometimes fancied, Agnace, that you have 
lived single on account of that handsome scoundrel, and 
I believe it’s true — upon my soul, I do. And I believe 
you know all about Miss Brend’s history. And I believe 
— yes, by George ! — that you had a hand in wronging 
her.” 

Miss Powys grew white as de'ath. 

Upham saw that his shot had told. He looked amazed, 
yet exultant. 

“ I begin to see,” he ejaculated, slowly ; “ 1 Hell hath 
no fury like a woman scorned.’ You discovered that 
Brend was married when he made love to you, and you 
found out his wife and child, and revenged yourself in 
some way upon them ? It sounds wild, but I’ll reduce 
the idea to clearness and practicability. I begin to see,” 
he repeated. “ Better tell me the whole truth, Agnace, 
and consent to my marriage with Miss Brend, or I’ll un- 
earth your secret.” 

Miss Powys’ lips curled in an ineffable scorn. 


166 


A DECLARATION OF WAR. 


“ Wretch ! to threaten a lady and your own cousin !” 
she exclaimed. “ I defy you. If you do not know 
enough to accept a decided rejection, I have nothing to 
fear from you. Miss Brend, I desire you to attend me 
to my room.” 

Miss Powys swept out of the library in her haughtiest 
manner. 

Edda followed her without looking at her suitor, but 
he, nothing daunted, walked beside the girl and whis- 
pered : 

“ Forgive me, Edda, but my love shall win return. I 
shall find out the secret of your origin, and make it 
known to you. And then I shall claim my reward.” 

Edda made no reply, but passed on, following Miss 
Powys to her boudoir. 

Mr. Upham shut the door behind them, and paced to 
and fro the library with a strange excitement and agita- 
tion. 

“ I have stumbled oddly enough upon the clue to the 
mystery,” he thought. “Agnace knows who the girl is 
and all about her. I don’t believe a word about the 
‘ ruin and disgrace ’ attaching to the name of Miss Brend. 
Where did Henry Brend' disappear to ? Is he really 
dead ? Did Agnace love him? and did her love turn to 
hate? I’ve cherished a dislike to Agnace ever since she 
rejected me so many years ago. I’d like to humble her 
proud head — Ah!” 

An idea strange and daring — seeming audacity itself 
— suddenly thrilled his soul to its centre. 

He actually grew pale, and sat down trembling. 

“ The girl has a look of Brend,” he muttered ; “ but 
now and then there’s something about her that reminds 
me of Agnace. Is — can it be that Agnace is her mother ?” 

He peered around him, as if he feared the very walls 
might hear him. 


MR. GASCOYNE UPHAM FIRES HIS BIGGEST GUN. 













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A DECLARATION OF WAR. 


167 


“ Where was Agnace nineteen years ago ?” he con- 
tinued, in a whisper. “ The girl is nineteen, she said. 
Agnace was but a child then — a girl of fifteen or so — 
and yet it might have been. I believe I have stumbled 
upon the root of the mystery.” 

He sprang up again, walked excitedly back and forth, 
and then quitted the library, hurrying toward his cousin’s 
rooms. 

Meanwhile, Miss Powys and Edda had seated them- 
selves in the former’s boudoir. The lady had flung her- 
self upon a low, silken couch, and at her request Edda 
had taken possession of a low hassock beside her. Miss 
Powys’ white hand was toying with the girl’s short, 
jetty ringlets, and Miss Powys herself was gently trying 
to win the confidence of her young companion. 

“ My dear,” she said,” you know by this time that I 
am your friend, and yet you do not treat me as one. I 
know no more about you than when you came to me, 
and I would give much to hear all about your past life. 
You are cold to me, always on your guard, always re- 
served.” 

“ What shall I speak of, Miss Powys ?” said Edda, 
bitterly. “Shall I tell you that I never had a carpet in 
my own room till I came here ? That a nun’s cell is 
luxurious compared to my old room at Racket Hall ? 
That I was never half-clad ? That I lived a gypsyish 
sort of life on the moors after my last governess went 
away, and I had no one to care for me ?” 

Miss Powys winced. 

“ No, I do not wish to hear of these things,” she said, 
in a pained voice. “ I never knew — I always supposed, 
Edda — let me call you Edda, Miss Brend — were there 
no bright spots in your life on the moor ? Had you no 
friends whatever ? I was glad when I heard you say 
that you did not love Gascoyne Upham, but when he 


168 


A DECLARATION OF WAR. 


asked you if you loved another you blushed. Why did 
you blush ? Do you love some one, Edda ?” 

“ By what right do you ask the question, Miss 
Powys ?” 

The girl’s clear eyes searched the lady’s face keenly. 

“ By the right of — of a friend.” 

“ A friend gives confidence for confidence. You have 
given me none.” 

Miss Powys covered her face with her hands, and 
made no answer. But the shiver that swept over her 
frame from head to foot showed that she was suffering. 

Edda felt a sudden pity for her. 

“ I don’t mind telling you,” she said, thoughtfully, “ that 
I have had a lover. I don’t know where he is, nor 
whether I shall ever see him again. He came up to 
hunt upon the moors last autumn. He said he should 
come again this year ; but of course I shall never marry 
him now, for he comes of a proud old family, and he is 
already on bad terms with his relatives, and a marriage 
with me would ruin him. I would be only a disgrace 
to him, you know — and yet — and yet we are engaged to 
each other.” 

“ Engaged ! Edda, you must not see him again. My 
poor child, I did not dream that under all your bright- 
ness, so much of sorrow was concealed,” said Miss 
Powys. “ But, Edda, you can never marry. If I could 
but suffer for you ! Edda, believe me — I would gladly 
give my life for your happiness !” 

She bent forward swiftly, and kissed the girl’s face 
with passionate earnestness. 

Edda drew back in surprise. 

And just then came a knock upon the door, and 'Mr. 
Upham entered the room, aglow with excitement. 

“ Excuse me, Agnace,” he said, “ but I have fpund a 
new argument to advance in favor of my suit, and I am 


ENTRAPPED. 


169 


come to urge it. I think you will consent to my mar- 
riage with Miss Brend, and even urge her to accept me — 
and even urge me to marry her,” he added, triumphantly. 

“ I believe I have found the clue which will enable me 
to unravel the whole mystery. I believe that you are 
her mother.” 

Miss Powys leaped to her feet, and pointed command- 
ingly to the door. 

“ I’ll go directly, my fair cousin,” said Upham, exult- 
antly. “ I’m going to know the truth in this matter. 
I’m going to hunt you dowtf. And when I confront you * 
with the evidence that Edda Brend is your own. daugh- 
ter, you’ll have to make terms with me. You under- 
stand ? I would have married Edda Brend with no for- 
tune but her face and decent lineage. But because of 
the bar sinister upon her escutcheon, I shall demand, as 
her portion, half your private fortune, Agnace. Refuse 
me, and I’ll expose you to my uncle. Refuse me, Edda, 
and I’ll ruin your mother. I advise you to capitulate at 
once. I am master. I shall demand your answer to- 
morrow.” 

He went out of the room and slammed the door. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

\ 

ENTRAPPED. 

When Lord Ronald Charlton ‘dismissed his cab upon 
that fateful day of his disappearance, he set out, as has 
been said, upon a walk in the direction of Hackney 
Downs. The August day was warm and yet pleasant. 
The air was not sultry, but was soft and spring-like. 
Lord Ronald walked slowly, although he was now quite 
recovered from the effects of his illness, and stopped in at a 


170 


ENTRAPPED. 


meat-shop, and a baker’s-shop to make inquiries concern- 
ing new arrivals in the vicinity. He passed through two 
or three streets, turning from one into ^another, and 
came out finally upon one longer, wider and straighter 
than the rest, which seemed to conduct directly to the 
Downs. 

This street was lined with high brick walls, in which 
were set at intervals small brown garden doors. Beside 
each door was a brass bell-knob, and upon each door 
was painted the fanciful title of the house behind it. 
Lord Ronald amused himself with the study of this high- 
toned nomenclature. There was Acacia Lodge, De Wes- 
syngton Villa, the Limes, the Beeches, Portland Place, 
and so on through a list of high-flown titles. 

The houses thus designed were bright two-story cot- 
tages — their owners called them villas — with stuccoed 
fronts, bow-windows set with plate glass, and gardens 
filled with shrubbery. Some of the houses were adorned 
with placards, signifying that they were to be let. A 
few were quite invisible, excepting their roofs, behind a 
screen of evergreen trees. 

“A man might lodge himself in one of these houses and 
expect to escape discovery forever,” thought Lord Ron- 
ald. “ I can scarcely see the houses on this side of the 
street on account of the high wall. I cannot believe 
that Lord Clair would have brought Hellene to this 
quarter of the town, and yet I must own I never saw a 
place better adapted for the purpose of concealment.” 

He continued to walk; on slowly. 

He had seen rows of houses like these in the outskirts 
of London, guarded by similar brick walls, but he had 
not been so impressed by any of those others. He ex- 
perienced a sort of fascination in regard to these, and 
paused before one garden door, when it opened to give 


ENTRAPPED. 


171 


egress to a housemaid, and sent a swift comprehensive 
glance within. 

Chiding himself for his folly, he moved on. 

And just then he beheld, a few rods in advance of him 
upon the same side of the street, a tall, heavily-moulded 
figure, which he recognized — or fancied he recognized. 
This figure had emerged from a side street, and was 
sauntering lazily in the direction of the Downs. 

It was the figure of the Earl of Charlewick. 

Lord Ronald said to himself that he could not be mis- 
taken. The broad shoulders, the supple movements, 
the swinging gait, were most unmistakably those of 
Lord Charlewick. Yet, as if to make assurance doubly 
sure, Lord Ronald caught a glimpse of his uncle’s swar- 
thy, Spanish face, as it was turned toward the street at 
the passing of an omnibus. 

The young man quickened his steps, his heart beating 
wildly. 

His first impulse was to overtake his relative and ac- 
cost him. A moment’s reflection convinced him that the- 
impulse was not one to be followed. 

“ He’s probably on his way to visit Lord Clair,” he 
thought. “ If he sees me he will change his purpose and 
not go there, and thus I shall lose my only chance of 
finding Hellene. I’ll keep my eye upon him and keep 
out of his sight.” 

He fell back discreetly, allowing the earl to make the 
distance between them considerably greater. 1 he earl 
did not look squarely around, although once he turned- 
his face fully toward the road, and Ronald then pressed 
closer within the shadow of the wall, fearing to be seen 
and recognized. 

Lord Charlewick seemed quite at his ease, twirling a 
cane in one of his primrose-gloved hands. He seemed 
totally unconscious of pursuit. 


172 


ENTRAPPED. 


A fear came suddenly to the pursuer. 

“ Perhaps he has been to see Miss Clair, and is on his 
way home,” thought Ronald. “ Every step may be tak- 
ing me farther from her. I’ve a good mind to overtake 
him. But no. He has a bouquet in his hand ! He is 
on his way to her ! Surely Providence guided me to- 
day.” 

Lord Charlewick’s slow pace grew slower. At last, 
he paused abruptly before one of the garden-doors and 
pulled the bell. And now his face was turned fully and 
squarely toward his nephew, and the last possible doubt 
of his identity was removed from Ronald’s mind. 

The young man did not dare to stop ; but he walked 
very slowly. The earl did not seem to see him, turning 
his face to the garden-door, which presently swung open. 

Now Ronald quickened his steps almost to a run. 

It was necessary to identify the house into which the 
earl was about to enter, else all his discovery would be 
profitless. Houses and garden-doors were all alike, with 
the exception of inscriptions upon the latter. Ronald 
made all haste, and as he arrived in the vicinity of the 
door behind which the earl had disappeared, he halted, 
and said to himself : 

“ Was this the place? or was it the next one? I am 
puzzled. I must wait till he comes out.” 

But just then a click in the lock of the nearest gate, a 
final rattling of chains, and a step on the garden-walk, 
on the other side of the wall, put an end to his specu- 
lations. 

“ So this is the place !” he thought. “ They are on 
their guard within. So this is Lord Clair’s ‘fastness!’ 
And Hellene is on the other side of this wall — only sepa- 
rated from me by a few bricks. The earl is talking to 
her, perhaps. He is telling her that I am ill — dead — 
false, it may be. He shall not have the field to himself. 


ENTRAPPED. 


173 


I will throw a bomb-shell into the enemy’s camp. I’ll 
appear and confront my uncle, and comfort my poor * 
darling.” 

Had Lord Ronald been an older or colder man — had 
he been timid of disposition, or afraid of a scene — he 
would have waited until Lord Charlewick had departed, 
or he would have lain in wait for a housemaid and bribed 
her to take a letter to Hellene. But being a straightfor- 
ward, impulsive, hopest-souled young fellow, he sought 
out the bell-knob in its sunken setting and rang it vig- 
orously. 

He had time to thoroughly study the name on the 
door — Vine Lodge — before anyone came to admit him. 
But steps were heard at last on the graveled walk 
within, slow steps as of an aged person. Then the 
chains were rattled and the key grated in the lock, and 
the door opened cautiously to an extent of some four 
inches. To this narrow aperture a man’s face was 
applied, and a voice demanded what was wanted. 

“ Does Lord Clair live here ?” said Lord Ronald, 
boldly. 

“ Well, what if he does ?” the man answered, sharply. 

“ His lordship don’t see anybody.” 

The man made a movement to close the gate. Ronald » 
produced a half-crown and gave it to him. 

“ I saw Lord Charlewick go in just now,” said our 
hero. “ I am his nephew, Lord Ronald Charlton. Let 
me in, my good fellow.” 

The old man turned the half-crown over in his hand, 
bit it, and then looked curiously at the visitor. 

“You can come in, if you’re Lord Charl’ick’s nevy,” 
he said ; “ but no visitors is the rule, and I shouldn’t 
have opened the gate but I thought it was the housemaid 
come home.” 




174 


ENTRAPPED. 


The servant swung open the gate, and Ronald passed 
into the precincts of Vine Lodge. 

The man replaced the bolts and chains, and plunged 
into a narrow path leading among the shrubbery to the 
rear portion of the dwelling. 

Lord Ronald walked slowly up the broad path, which 
was thickly bordered with a hedge of tall evergreen 
trees. The small lawn was thickly planted with pines, 
firs, spruce, and other northern trees. As the young man 
neared the dwelling, he comprehended why the place 
had been named Vine Lodge. 

The house, precisely similar to its neighbors on both 
sides of the street, was yet different in being almost com- 
pletely embowered in vines. On the northern and east- 
ern sides was a heavy, almost impenetrable screen of 
ivy, which was parted at the windows only sufficiently 
to admit light through the lower panes of glass. Upon 
the southern and western sides were Virginia creepers 
and other flowering summer-vines. With all its pro- 
fusion of shade, the place was romantic rather than 
gloomy. 

Lord Ronald ascended the broad square of cut stone 
which interposed between the walk and the house-door, 
and sounded the knocker loudly. The old man who had 
admitted him into the garden came to the door. He had 
hurried around, entering the house at a rear door, and 
was panting and breathless. 

He was a big, stalwart individual, with a gray wig, 
gray beard, and spectacles, and was dressed in livery. 

“ Show me into the drawing-room, my good fellow,” 
said Lord Ronald, producing a second half-crown. “ I 
have no cards to send in. You can announce me at the 
door.” 

The servant took the money and gave the visitor ad- 


ENTRAPPED. 


175 


mittance. He conducted him up-stairs to the drawing- 
room and announced him. 

Ronald entered the drawing-room, which was dim 
with a sort of twilight, and full of chill. The ivy vines 
covered the windows completely, permitting only a few 
stray beams of light to enter. Evidently the vines had 
been trained to part at the windows, but they were now 
caught into a thick network with strings. The furniture 
was worn, and originally had been gaudy. It was plain 
that the house had been taken furnished. 

Ronald looked around him. 

At first the room appeared unoccupied, but a move- 
ment in a chair in a farther corner assured him that he 
was not alone. He crossed the floor, and a man then 
arose from the chair and confronted him. The man was 
Lord Charlewick. 

A slow, evil smile gathered around the misshapen 
mouth of the earl, and he made a mocking bow to the 
intruder. 

“So it’s you, Ronald?” he exclaimed, in a theatrical 
manner. “You did not drown? You did not die of 
fever ? You got my letter ? Very good. Now what do 
you want here ?” 

“ Softly, my lord,” said Ronald, calmly. “I followed 
you in here. I am come to see Miss Clair. Where is 
she ?” 

“ It seems that we are both bent upon the same busi- 
ness,” said the earl. “ We both want Hellene. Ah, she 
is beautiful, Ronald. I like your dainty, fair women, the 
melting blue eyes, the tender complexion, the — but I am 
proving a very Romeo, a foolish, doting lover. I have 
learned to compose a sonnet to her eyebrow — I have 
sung to her serenades — all the romance of my Spanish 
nature finds expression now. By my faith, Ronald, your 
day is over,” mocked Lord Charlewick. “ Out of sight 


176 


ENTRAPPED. 


has proved out of mind. Hellene believes you false 
to her.” 

“ It is not so. Why don’t she come ? Where is Lord 
Clair ?” 

“ He has gone to fetch Hellene. She pretends to be 
coy, the little coquette. And so you trapped me here, 
Ronald ? You will make your fortune if you’ll go into 
Bow street.” 

Tiiere was a sneering mockery in the earl’s manner 
and tones that inspired Ronald with a vague sense of 
uneasiness. He believed that the earl was bent upon 
a quarrel. To avoid a quarrel in Lord Clair’s house, 
Ronald turned abruptly and walked toward the door, 
intending to await Hellene near the entrance of the 
room. 

He had not taken half a dozen steps, when the earl 
bounded forward with the leap of a tiger and hurled 
himself upon Ronald, throwing him to the floor. The 
bulky form of the wicked lord was like a battering ram 
leveling all before it. Ronald struggled, hut vainly. He 
fought furiously, but he was like a child in that iron 
grasp, having been conquered by such foul treachery at 
the outset. He called for help. The old servant who 
had admitted him came rushing in, but with ropes to 
bind him. 

A few more futile struggles, a few further outcries, 
and Lord Ronald Charlton lay bound and helpless upon 
the floor, his eyes glaring out of the dimness. 

“ Take him to the room prepared for him,” Lord Charle- 
wick commanded. “ I’ll come to see him directly. I 
desire to say a few words to him.” 

The old servitor shouldered the helpless captive and 
carried him out into the corridor, and to a rear room 
which was evidently intended as a trunk room. He 
dumped down his burden heavily and went out, closing 


A SUDDEN CHANGE. 


177 


the door behind him. Ronald was alone in the dark- 
ness, but not for long. A little later a swinging tread 
in the hall announced that his enemy was coming. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A SUDDEN CHANGE. 

Lord Charlewick entered the small back room into 
which Lord Ronald had been thrust, and flashed the 
light of a candle above his head. It was bright day out- 
of-doors, but in this place night reigned. The room 
was a mere closet, some eight feet square, without a 
window, and was ventilated only through a small square 
opening above the door. The hall without being dark, 
no light could enter even at this aperture. The room 
was without furniture or carpet, being as bare, except 
for a small forest of clothes’ hooks, as when the builder 
had finished it. 

Upon the dusty, uncovered floor lay Ronald, tightly 
bound, but the look that flashed from his eyes was full 
of haughty defiance still. 

The earl smiled grimly. His swarthy Spanish face 
was flushed, and his evil eyes glowed with his triumph. 

He deposited his candle upon the floor, and stood 
with folded arms gloating upon his captive. 

“ Vanquished, but not subdued — overwhelmed, but 
not conquered,” said the earl, mockingly. “If a look 
could .kill, then I should fall at your feet dead, I sup- 
pose. Spare me the lightning of those glances, my dear 
nephew. They wither me.” 

“Your mockery is all thrown away upon me,” said 



178 


A SUDDEN CHANGE. 


Lord Ronald, calmly. “ But if you find pleasure in it, 
pray don’t restrain yourself upon my account.” 

“You are cool,” returned the earl. “I expected to 
find you whining. I supposed you were a goody-goody 
sort of fellow like your father, but it seems you have a 
little spirit of your own. So much the better. Our 
meetings heretofore, my beloved nephew, have been so 
few and brief that I hardly feel acquainted with you. 
But now we have leisure and opportunity to arrive at a 
full understanding with each other. We can talk quite 
at our ease without fear of being interrupted.” 

“ It is a brave man who requires his enemy to be 
bound hand and foot before he dares have speech with 
him,” said Ronald, tauntingly. 

The lightning leaped to the earl’s eyes ; a deeper flush 
to his cheeks. His hand flew to his breast, as if in 
search of a concealed weapon. 

“ Don’t tempt me too far,” he said, warningly. “ When 
I am angered beyond a certain point I am not master of 
myself. Don’t tempt me to do you an injury.” 

“ Would you require much temptation ?” demanded 
the captive, undauntedly. “ You attempted my life 
once in Charlewick Park. You seem to be familiar 
enough with deeds of crime and lawlessness. You 
resort to violence as some men resort to argument.” 

The earl scowled darkly, and replied, with some 
vehemence : 

“ I am not made as you are. My hot Spanish blood 
forces me into deeds at which your calm nature would 
shrink back apalled. I am wild and passionate by na- 
ture, but you — bah ! your veins flow with milk and 
water. You cannot hate ; you cannot love. But as 
for me, I hate unto death, and my love is like the prairie 
fires of America, sweeping all before it.” 

“ Your love and your hate, you imply, are alike fatal,” 


A SUDDEN CHANGE. 


179 


said Ronald. “ But it is probable that you do not 
know what love means.” 

“ Do I not ?” cried the earl, his black eyes gleaming. 
“ I have seen Miss Hellene lately, been lodged under 
the same roof with her, listened to her voice, and studied 
her face, and I have learned what love means. I love 
your fair Hellene, Ronald. Every golden thread of her 
hair is precious to me. She will make a fitting Coun- 
tess of Charlewick. Her father has consented to her 
marriage to me ; more — he has undertaken to procure 
her consent.” 

“ It will not be an easy task. Is Miss Clair in this 
house ?” and Ronald’s voice grew eager, in spite of his 
stern self-control. 

“ She is not. She has never been here.” 

“ Is Lord Clair here ?” 

“ No ; he has never been here either. Lord Clair 
would never bring his daughter to the East End of Lon- 
don. The Honorable Miss Hellene Clair at Hackney! 
The very words sound incongruous.” 

“ But I asked for Lord Clair at the door. The ser- 
vant said, or intimated, that Lord Clair lived here,” 

“ The servant is in my pay. He says what he is told 
to say. He expected you, and had his speech ready.” 

“Expected me? Impossible !” 

“ Not at all, my dear nephew. I was lying in wait for 
you behind a certain corner, and had stood there hours 
when you appeared at last in the distance. I showed 
myself then, turning the corner carelessly and seeming 
as if I had not seen you, but I knew that you had seen 
me and were following me. I led you to this house. 
The trap has been set for you for days, and I expected 
you to fall into it before.” 

“ Do you mean that this house was hired for the pur- 
pose of entrapping me into it?” 


180 


A SUDDEN CHANGE. 


“ For that purpose, and no other. I saw a notice up- 
on it that it was to be let furnished. I -hired it — and 
here you are !” 

Lord Ronald was amazed. He began to comprehend 
that he had become the victim of some deep-laid plan, 
which he could not yet fathom. 

“ I can see that you expected me to hasten in pursuit 
of Miss Clair as soon as I had recovered my strength 
sufficiently,” he said, slowly. “ I can see that you would 
expect your taunting letter to me, added to the mystery 
of her silence, would impel me to search for her till I 
should find her. I know that you would have believed 
me anxious, troubled, alarmed even, for her safety — 
but how should you know that I would confine my 
researches to London ? How should you expect me 
here V' 

“ That is all simple enough. I’ve had you watched 
since you left Little Charlewick. Not a movement of 
yours, your servant’s, or Hartson’s has escaped my 
notice. I knew that you were searching the districts to 
the north and north-east of the city. I knew that even- 
tually you would come to Hackney, and, coming to 
Hackney, you would inevitably come upon this street. 
And so I engaged this house, and waited like a spider 
in its web. If you had directed your explorations to 
the Surrey side instead of this, I should have hired a 
house there instead of here. Do you understand now?” 
and the earl sneered. 

“No ; I am puzzled still. It almost seems as if you 
had had an intimate knowledge of all my thoughts and 
plans — but that’s impossible. You are very keen and 
shrewd — but how came you to expect me to-day ?” 

“ I expected you yesterday, and lay in wait for you 
for hours ; but you did not come. But this morning I 
had a person lounging about the entrance of your hotel. 


t-ORD RONALD IN THK POWER OF HIS ENEMY. 












A SUDDEN CHANGE. 


181 


He heard you give the order for Hackney, and came to 
me at once with the tidings. I knew you must traverse 
this street by cab or on foot, and I was ready.” 

Lord Ronald was not quite satisfied, but he was 
forced to accept the explanation, since he could himself 
suggest nothing more plausible. Yet it seemed incred- 
ible that the earl should have taken a house and entered 
upon its occupancy on the strength of a mere possibility 
that Ronald might be decoyed into it. What if he — 
-Ronald — had not chanced upon that street ? What if 
he had not come to Hackney ? 

The earl again smiled grimly, seeming to read his 
thoughts. 

“If you had not come to Hackney of your own accord 
I should have found means to decoy you here, or, that 
failing, to fetch you by force. Perhaps you understand 
now that I am not engaged in the guess and chance 
business, but that I know what I am about. I lay out 
plans, and follow them.” 

“Well,” said Lord Ronald, “it seems you have been 
successful in this one. Miss Clair is not in this house, 
has not been here, and does not even know of its exist- 
ence. Where then is she ?” 

“I can give you no further information upon that 
point than I gave you in my letter. She will not readily 
be found. She is safe.” 

“I hope she is,” breathed Ronald, as if he doubted. 
“ But as you refuse to tell me where she is, will you tell 
me why I am here? Do you mean to kill me?” 

“ Kill you ! My dear nephew, you horrify me. Kill 
you !” 

“ Does the idea , seem so incredible and so horrible ?” 
inquired Ronald, sarcastically. “ You tried to kill me 
at Chariewick. ” 

“ You refer to the accident on the lake. I do things 


182 


A SUDDEN CHANGE. 


sometimes in the heat of passion which I would be incap- 
able of doing in cold blood. Under certain circum- 
stances I would not scruple to take your life as readily 
as I would destroy a fly, but I have at present no such 
intention in regard to you. It is essential to my com- 
fort and ease of mind that your search for Miss Clair 
be interrupted, leaving me free to court and marry her. 
You might possibly stumble upon a clue to her retreat 
and discover her, and I might be seriously embarrassed 
by your inopportune appearance. I prefer, my dear fel- 
low, to have you out of the way during the next month 
or two, and to employ the energies of Hartson and your 
servant in hunting for you instead of Miss Clair.” 

“ They may find me in time to permit me to make the 
inopportune appearance you seem to dread.” 

“ I defy them. I shall leave you here with old Pietro,” 
said the earl. “ He is a perfect wolf, and true as steel 
to me. All the money in the world could not shake his 
fidelity to me. Besides, he knows that I have great 
wealth, and can reward liberally. If pursuers venture 
in this direction, there will be a card attached to the 
gate signifying that this house is to be let. I have hired 
the house for six months, and can sub-let it if I choose, 
so no inquiry will be aroused by the appearance of the 
placard, and it will blind pursuers. My plans are care- 
fully laid, you see. You will remain here in seclusion 
until after my marriage to Miss Clair. I shall tell her 
that you are dead, or false, or whatever seems plaus- 
ible.” 

“ Dastardly villain ! Miss Clair will never marry you, 
whether I die or live.”' 

“ Perhaps she might to save your life,” said the earl, 
grimly. “ I am infatuated with her, and I hate you. 
There’s no knowing what I may be driven to do.” 


A SUDDEN CHANGE. 


183 


“ Have you no fears that when you release me I may 
expose you — may declare your base treachery to me ?” 

“ Certainly not. I am your uncle. You will not will- 
ingly bring scandal on your family name, nor disgrace 
upon my newly-wedded wife, as Hellene will be then. 
You will then even desist from any attempt to pry into 
my past. Any statements you might make against me 
would require to be proved, and I doubt if you could 
prove them. Is there more you would like to know ? I 
must leave you, I fear,” and the earl glanced at his jew- 
eled watch. “ I have quite a journey before me. I am 
going now*to sweet Hellene.” 

“ A journey ! She is not in London then ?” 

The earl bit his lips. He had not meant to make such 
an acknowledgment, even to one so helpless to circum- 
vent his plans as was now‘Lord Ronald. He replied, 
gruffly : 

“ It’s quite a journey to the West End, isn’t it ? If you 
want anything, old Pietro will wait upon you. These 
walls are thick, and the house is detached, but if you 
attempt any outcries, Pietro has orders to gag you. Be 
warned, and be wise. I shall probably not again invade 
the cheerful although plebeian precincts of Hackney. 
Farewell, then, my dear nephew. Aadio , as we say in 
Spanish.” 

Lord Ronald did not reply. The earl took up his 
candle, and with an elaborate bow took his departure, 
closing the closet door behind him. 

He descended to a lower room, where the old servant 
whom he had called Pietro awaited him. 

“ It’s all right,” said his lordship, gayly. “He’s caged, 
and cleverly, too. The job’s well done, Pietro. You’ll 
win a life-lease of the Winet farm if you go on as well 
as you have begun, and keep him penned up here till 
after my marriage to Miss Clair.” 


184 : 


A SUDDEN CHANGE. 


“You can depend upon me, my lord,” said Pietro. 
“ I’ve got some shackles to put on his feet so that he can 
walk about a little, and I’ll handcuff him if the rope 
don’t seem to answer. I’ll keep him here six months or 
six years, if necessary. It’ll be another tragic disap- 
pearance like that of your lordship twenty years ago. 
And,” he added, grinning, “ perhaps Lord Ronald ’ll be 
as long missing.” 

The earl frowned, but took no other notice of the 
allusion to himself. 

“My nephew believes that I was on the look-out for 
him yesterday. Let him continue to think-%o. Betray 
nothing, but be on your guard continually against his 
questionings and his attempts at escape. Do not be- 
tray that you know him or ever saw Charlewick, or 
Devonshire even, in your life. You are Pietro now, a 
fellow I’ve picked up in London, and you are to forget 
that you were Peter Diggs, of Charlewick.” 

“ I shall remember to forget, my lord,” said Pietro, 
quaintly. “ You may trust me, my lord. My mother 
swore to your lady-mother to be faithful to you all her 
days, and all my mother’s sons have taken also the vow 
of fidelity to you. We do not forget, my lord, that you 
were nursed at our mother’s breast, and that the alien 
Spanish blood is in your veins and ours alike. Is there 
more your lordship would say ?” 

“ Nothing more. I must be off now. See if the way 
is clear.” 

Pietro went out to the garden gate and returned, an- 
nouncing that the street was deserted, and that he had 
hailed an empty passing cab. 

The earl caught up a small valise which lay upon a 
table, and hurried out. He entered the cab and drove 
away. Pietro locked and barred the gate, and entered 
the house. He secured the doors, and lighting the can- 


A SUDDEN CHANGE. 


185 


die Lord Charlewick had employed, he took up his 
shackles and went up to his captive. 

Ronald questioned him eagerly, but could elicit no 
answers. Pietro knelt down and secured the shackles 
upon the ankles of his prisoner, and then unloosed the 
tight and heavy cord. 

“ You can walk about now if you like, my lord,” he 
said. “ I’ll put a mattress in here for you to lie on, and 
you are to have what food you call for.” 

He went out, closing the door and locking it behind 
him. He re-admitted himself presently, bringing a hard 
straw mattress, a pillow and a blanket, a small table, and 
a few other articles, which he disposed about the room. 
He went out again, with similar precautions in regard to 
the door, and returned with a loaf of bread, a plate of 
cold meat, and a pail of water. 

“You won’t want anything more till to-morrow morn- 
ing, my lord,” said Ronald’s keeper. “ If I hear a wink 
of yours, I’ll gag you, as I’ve orders. I’m a light 
sleeper, and I’m to lie on a rug just outside your 
door.” 

With this, Pietro took his final departure from the 
room, making all secure behind him. 

He did not return until the next day, but all that 
night he lay outside Ronald’s door and snored fright- 
fully. The next merning he appeared, exchanged the 
prisoner’s ropes for handcuffs, taking care to put on the 
latter before removing the former, and gave him a sup- 
ply of food for the day. 

He did not return again for twenty-four hours, but 
Ronald could hear him in the house by day, and outside 
his door by night. 

And thus the days and nights during which Hartson 
sought for him so unceasingly wore on to Lord Ronald. 
The earl did not return. Once or twice the dull clangor 


186 


A SUDDEN CHANGE. 


of the gardenbell- penetrated to the prisoner’s ears ; now 
and then he could hear the crashing of omnibus wheels 
in the street ; but no friendly face came near him. He 
was like one dead and buried. 

He had been eight days in his prison, when Pietro 
came one evening into his cell, bringing a printed hand- 
bill to which was appended Hartson’s name. The bill 
contained a statement of Lord Ronald’s dissappearance, 
and offered a large reward for any information leading 
to his discovery, dead or alive.. 

“They’ve got detectives at work,” said Pietro, as the 
paper fell from Ronald’s manacled hands. “ But there’s 
no one to claim the reward. No one but the earl and I 
know that you are here.” 

“ Someone must have seen me enter — ” 

“ No one did. But if they had, they would have 
thought you had gone out when they were not looking. 
People are not so suspicious as you seem to think. The 
cab took away one gentleman : who is to say it did not 
take two ? I am more cautious than you think. I do 
not even buy all my bread at one baker’s, nor all my 
meat at one place. I have given people to understand 
that my master is absent, leaving me in charge, and no 
one wonders or gossips.” 

Ronald had chafed and fretted during those long days 
and nights of imprisonment, until a«sort of despair had 
seemed to settle upon him, a fatal lethargy that crushed 
alike all hope and energy. But the stirring hand-bill 
had aroused in him the determination of escape — not 
the hope, but the stern resolve to be free. 

“ Pietro,” he said, fixing his keen eyes upon the pre- 
tended old man, “ you are doing a bad deed for money : 
will you not rather do a good deed if you are equally 
well paid ? What sum will you demand to release me ? 
You have seen the amount of reward offered in this 


A SUDDEN CHANGE. 


187 


hand-bill. What shall I add to it to be allowed to 
escape ?” 

“ Nothing. You have not money enough to tempt me 
to let you go — not you, nor this man Hartson either.” 

Pietro spoke with a doggedness that showed him 
insensible to appeal or argument. He had been drink- 
ing, too, and was in a less cautious mood than usual. 
Despite the fact that Lord Ronald was manacled and 
shackled, Pietro had been very guarded whenever he 
entered the cell, keeping near to the door, and having a 
wary eye upon the prisoner. Lord Ronald had the 
look and manner of one physically weak, and his keeper 
knew that he had just arisen from a long and severe 
illness. Pietro would have laughed had anyone sug- 
gested that he had aught to fear from his prisoner, and 
indeed nothing could have seemed more improbable. 

“Then you will not listen to mercy ?” urged Lord 
Ronald. 

“ Not a listen !” retorted Pietro, coarsely. “I don’t 
know nothing about mercy. I know what’s to my inter- 
est, I do, and that’s all I want to know. I brought you 
in that hand-bill, thinking it might interest you, but 
now I’ll go again.” 

He stooped forward, holding his candle above his head, 
to pick up the hand-bill. 

In the same moment, Lord Ronald swooped upon him, 
and brought his iron manacles heavily down upon his 
head with a crashing force which laid him prostrate. 
Before he could rise or move, Lord Ronald, his fists 
clenched together in a ball like iron, repeated the blow 
so near to the fellow’s temples, that Pietro uttered a 
wild gurgle and fell back insensible. 

“ Now for the keys of my fetters !” cried the prisoner. 
“ Oh, if they are not here !” 

He began to search the person of Pietro with fran- 


188 


edda’s resolve. 


tic haste. Fettered by the manacles, impeded by his 
excitement, he could not find them. An awful despair 
seized upon him. Where were they ? Where were the 
keys ? 

“ Oh, Heaven, to fail now ! So near to freedom ! I 
cannot — must not — fail ! The keys — the keys ! 

Again he tore frantically at Pietro’s garments. 

But suddenly he stopped with a stifled cry, and stood 
still as death, peering over his shoulder, fancying he 
heard a sound. And then came to his ears the dull, low 
clangor of the garden-bell. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 
edda’s resolve. 

After the abrupt departure of Gascoyne Upham, there 
was a strange brief silence between Miss Powys and 
Edda. Upham had thrown down the gage of battle. 
His threatening words rung in their ears. Miss Powys 
turned away her face that it might not be seen ; but 
Edda, impetuous as a young leopardess, sprang up and 
paced the floor, her thin, dark, eager face aflame, and 
her soft velvety eyes glowing like live coals. 

“I hate myself,” cried Edda, at last, “ that there is 
anything in me to attract that loathsome, mean little 
wretch. I’d as soon marry Mr. Nizbit as marry him. I 
can fight my own battles without any of his help. If I 
could not I should prefer being beaten. He to spy out 
my parentage ! He to restore to me my birthright ! 
Bah ! I would scorn him and his discoveries alike.” 

The girl’s clear, ringing voice, freighted with her 
scorn of her suitor, aroused Miss Powys, who regarded 


edda’s resolve. * 


189 


her young companion curiously, as if Edda were some 
lusus naturce. 

“Do you mean, Miss Brend,” asked the lady, “ that 
if Mr. Upham were to discover and reveal to you your 
origin, that you would not avail yourself of the knowl- 
edge thus gained ?” 

“ I mean exactly that !” replied Edda, emphatically. 
“ I am too proud to force myself upon anyone, or to 
take advantage of the discoveries of that Paul Pry. I 
have a right to study out the secrets that environ me, 
but those secrets are none of Mr. Upham ’s business, and 
I am none of his business. I can never fall so low as to 
league myself with him — never.” 

A faint color crept up into Miss Powys’ pale cheeks ; 
a new light shone from her sapphire eyes. 

“You’re a noble girl, Edda,” she said, and sighed. 
“ But you need not fear that Mr. Upham will have any 
discoveries to impart to you. Astute as he is, there are 
absolutely no discoveries for him to make. Half that he 
said to me is mere gasconade. It is a peculiarity of my 
cousin that he will leap to singular and most unheard-of 
conclusions, which never admit of being proved, and 
which he has to relinquish afterward. This new idea of 
his, involving such insult to me, will be given up within 
a week, as soon as he comprehends all that it means. 
He said truly — he has always cherished a secret feeling 
against me since, many years ago, I refused to marry 
him. If he has not a very large brain, he has a very 
small soul. At a word from me, papa would expel him 
from this house and from his service. But I shall not 
speak that word. Gascoyne is no great villain, only a 
contemptible, small-souled person, with a venomous 
nature. I know him well. He has sprung to a certain 
conclusion in regard to your relations to me, but already 
he suspects his wisdom and doubts what he has pro- 


190 


edda’s resolve. 


claimed to us. He will make a few secret inquiries, and 
then subside into his original obscurity.” 

“ Unless he should stumble upon some clue to the 
mystery,” said Edda, gravely. “ I think I comprehend 
him, too. I can see that he was speculating about me, 
and he remembered that Henry Brend had once loved 
you, and that he — Upham — had been jealous of Brend. 
You told him that I was the daughter of that Henry 
Brend. It seems that I was born in the same year that 
Mr. Brend paid you those attentions which made Mr. 
Upham jealous. Mr. Brend must have then been mar- 
ried when he conducted himself towards you as a free 
man and a lover. Perhaps the secret of Mr. Upham’s 
conclusion lies in this. He cannot comprehend how you 
would take under your protection the daughter of a man 
who professed to love you, unless his daughter were 
your own also. Human nature is hardly so exalted as 
to permit any lady to befriend the daughter of a man 
who had jilted the lady, and put an insult upon her.” 

“You reason well, Edda,” said Miss Powys. “Per- 
haps Gascoyne reasoned similarly, but he has not your 
brains, and springs to conclusions rather than reasons 
them out. He will never restore to you what you have 
termed your birthright.” 

“No one can ever give it to me,” said Edda, sorrow- 
fully. “ Not even you, Miss Powys.” 

The banker’s daughter started. 

“ Why not ?” she asked. 

The girl’s lips curled in an indescribable bitterness. 

“ What is one’s birthright ?” she demanded. “ At my 
birth, I had a right to recognition by my parents, to a 
share in their home, to an acknowledgment by them 
before the whole world.” 

“ That is your birthright — true ; but it can never be 
granted to you, Edda,” said Miss Powys, sorrowfully. 


edda’s resolve. 


191 


“ It is not the only right that was mine by birth, and 
its withholding is not the only wrong I have suffered,” 
said Edda, stormily. “ I never knew till I came here 
how I had been cheated. But I have seen children with 
their mothers in the park, the children watched over, 
loved, and tended like rare exotics. I grew up like a 
wayside thistle. I have seen young girls, like I am now, 
riding or driving in the park, guarded tenderly, loved 
and cherished, while I have no one in all the wide world 
to care whether I live or die. I was never petted and 
loved. I was never gathered in my mother’s arms. The 
mother who bore me hated me, and abandoned me when 
I was a month old.” 

“ Edda ! oh, Edda !” 

“I love beauty,” the girl continued, ner passionate 
young voice trembling, and her eyes roving about the 
room from one article of luxury to another, from picture 
to statuette, from piano to books bound in white vellum 
and gilt, from Pompeian vases to exquisite French 
bronzes — “and that love was born in me, an inheritance 
from my parents. But I was brought up in the barest 
poverty. My room at Racket Hall was a bare cell. The 
garments I wore would have been scorned by a beggar, 
and even such as they were they were not plentiful. My 
life was narrow, restricted to a routine of studies, and to 
wanderings on the moor — ” 

“ But, Edda, I never dreamed of all this. Mr. Nizbit 
received for your maintenance a sum sufficient to keep 
you in luxury, after paying your governess.” 

“ He had no income save that derived from his care 
of me. Out of that he paid his cook, housemaid, and 
stable-boy. Out of that he paid his rent, kept up his 
establishment, kept a horse, clothed himself and Mrs. 
Nizbit — after a style very different from that thought 
proper for me — and kept himself in generous wines and 


192 


edda’s resolve. 


brandies, and pipes and cigars, and all the luxuries he 
could desire. When all this was done, of course there 
was but little left for me. And when the money failed 
to arrive this year and last, a chronic state of poverty 
set in. Mrs. Nizbit died of fatigue, having worn herself 
out in waiting upon her husband. After her death things 
grew worse. My governess went away. The house- 
maid gave warning, and we struggled on, paying no 
rent and living like beggars. Yet to the last Mr. Nizbit 
managed to provide for his peculiar wants. No one 
ever suffered but me," 

“ If I had known ! If I had only known !” said Miss 
Powys. “ The money should have been sent, but last 
year, when the time arrived for sending it, I was very ill 
of fever, and Priggs was absorbed in the care of me, 
thinking I would die. I was ill for many weeks, and 
when I grew better I went to Bad-Gastein, remaining 
there until autumn, Priggs accompanying me. When I 
returned, in November, I concluded not to send the 
money until this spring, when I would go to Yorkshire 
myself. I supposed Mr. Nizbit in possession of an in- 
come of his own, and I knew that more money had been 
sent to him for your use than you could possibly have 
used for yourself. I believed that a handsome sum re- 
mained to your credit. I was unable to go north in 
May, and was preparing to visit Yorkshire when you 
made your appearance here. I had begun to realize 
that something must be done for your future, but I had 
not been able to come to any decision in regard to the 
matter.” 

“ You acknowledge that it was you who paid to Mr. 
Nizbit an annual sum for my support.” 

“ Yes % , I acknowledge that,” said Miss Powys, slowly. 
“ I paid it as a friend of your mother. Priggs always 
took the money in gold. A certified check could have 


edda’s resolve. 


193 


been traced to me, else I should have sent one after my 
return from Germany. The payment of the money to 
Mr. Nizbit always involved Priggs’ visit to Racket 
Hall.” 

“ Priggs was the ‘ Mrs. Catharine’ who attended my 
mother when I was born,” said Edda. “ It would not 
do for Mr. Upham to know that, or that I have been 
maintained all my life at your expense, Miss Powys. 
His opinion would find strong confirmation that I am 
your daughter.” 

“ Miss Brend,” said the banker’s heiress, coldly, “ I 
beg you not to suggest such relationship between you 
and me ever again. I like you and choose to befriend 
you for your mother’s sake ; * but I can never acknowledge 
that there is any tie of blood between you and me. You 
will do well to remember this.” 

Edda continued walking back and forth, and her lips 
curled anew, as she exclaimed : 

“ Do you think, Miss Powys, that I have no heart, no 
pride? If you are not my mother, you know who my 
mother was, or is. I believe sometimes that she is living,” 
and Edda’s glance grew bright and keen, studying the 
lady’s face with strange intentness. “ If she is living, 
she knows all about me. She might have won my heart. 
She might have shown some kindliness of feeling toward 
me. If she suffered secret disgrace, I would have helped 
her bear it. If she were proud, my pride should have 
helped support her. To know that she were my mother, 
even if I must bear the knowledge a secret to my grave ; 
to know that she confided in me ; was willing to have a 
secret bond of union between her and me — this would 
have been bliss to me. For a mother who loved me I 
could have died. No disgrace could have lessened my 
respect for her, if she had been tender enough and 


194 


eddy’s resolve. 


womanly enough to take me to her heart. But now it is 
too late.’' 

“ Too late !” 

“ Yes, Miss Powys, forever too late !” cried Edda, her 
eyes flashing with intensity of feeling. “ If my own 
mother were to kneel at my feet now, I should spurn her 
from me. The woman who could have been so weak 
and base as to rid herself of her innocent child ; who 
condemned her to a life of poverty and hardship, to lone- 
liness and unsatisfied yearnings ; who could know that I 
stand now at the threshold of life, lonely, sorrowful and 
anxious, and never offer me the balm of one loving word, 
or the promise of a mother’s friendship — can never, never 
win my love nor respect. I would refuse now to acknowl- 
edge her.” 

There was a dead silence. It was Edda who was the 
first again to speak. Her manner was now calm ; her 
voice subdued. 

“Miss Powys,” she said, and her tone was tinged with 
a faint irony, “ I find myself unable to continue longer 
in your service. I cannot subject myself to further an- 
noyance from Mr. Upham. I cannot consent to remain 
here as a thorn in your side, for so long as I stay Mr. 
Upham will persecute you upon my account. When he 
knows that I am gone away for good, he will cease to 
think of me or my origin.” 

“ Miss Brend — Edda — you are not serious ?” 

“ I was never more serious in my life, Miss Powys. I 
am going away this week.” 

Miss Powys’ face flushed with a haughty anger. 

“You will do nothing of the kind,” she said, com- 
mandingly. “ You will remain here.” 

“ By what right would you detain me?” demanded 
Edda. 

Miss Powys’ haughty eyes fell. 


EDDA S RESOLVE. 


195 


“ By the right that your mother delegated to me,” she 
answered, presently. “ She asked me to direct your 
future. You must remain with me always, Edda. I 
will provide for you at my death.” 

“ The mother who disowned and abandoned me had 
no right to dispose of me after I had become of an age 
to think for myself, MisS'Powys. I thank you for your 
kindness, but Eve no claims on you, it seems, and I can- 
not remain here longer. To tell you the truth, I am not 
happy here. I’d rather be back in a gipsy’s hut on my 
dear old moors than to live here on sufferance, Miss 
Powys. I am tired of the fine livery I wear,” and she 
looked down at her white robe disdainfully. “I earn 
nothing here, and I will not eat the bread of depen- 
dence. It is all a farce, my playing companion to you. 
I eat with you, sit with you, drive with you in the park ; 
but the pretence that I pay my way in reading or sing- 
ing to you is but shallow. I am eating the bread of 
charity, and I can no longer do it. I am going away. 
I prefer to go openly than to steal away secretly, and so 
I have told you the truth.” 

“ I shall not permit you to go. You know nothing of 
the world. Oh, Edda — Edda — ” 

The name was uttered in a wild wail, and Miss Powys 
wrung her hands despairingly. 

Edda fancied that some revelation trembled on the 
lady’s lips, but if so, it was checked by the sudden 
appearance of Mrs. Priggs from the inner room. The 
maid looked singularly disturbed. She had heard all 
that had been said by Mr. Upham, Miss Powys and 
Edda, and had been driven only to reveal her presence 
by that wailing cry from her mistress. 

Darting an angry look at the girl, Mrs. Priggs rushed 
to Miss Powys and bent over her, whispering to her and 
holding her close in her matronly arms with a peculiar 


196 


edda’s resolve. 


tenderness. Then she released her mistress and re- 
treated a few steps, but not offering to withdraw. 

Miss Powys struggled hard for composure. 

“I — I cannot let her go,” she murmured. 

“ Oh, Miss Agnace, she’s brought nothing but trouble 
to this house,” said the old attendant. “ Let her go 
back to Mr. Nizbit. Settle a sum of money upon her 
and send her away. Mr. Upham is a very serpent. Miss 
Brend is right ; she ought to get out of his way. For 
your papa’s sake, Miss Agnace — for your own sake — for 
the girl’s sake — send her away !” 

“ I won’t go back to Mr. Nizbit. And I won’t accept 
any settled sum of money,” said Edda, composedly. 

“ But what will you do ? Where will you go ?” 

“ I’ll earn my own living.” 

“Miss Agnace, hear me,” cried Mrs. Priggs, trem- 
blingly. ‘‘Miss Brend must go! Her departure will 
block Mr. Upham’s little game completely. She says 
she is not happy here, and you are suffering. She is not 
Wise enough to accept your kindness without question- 
ing. Her staying will bring trouble on- us all. She 
must go !” 

“ No, no. It is impossible — ” 

“Oh, Miss Agnace, pray be guided by me. She will 
go secretly if you do not let her go with your consent. 
Is it not so. Miss Brend ?” 

“ It is. I am going in any case.” 

“ But, Edda, my — ” 

“ Oh, hush, Miss Agnace ! Are .you wild ?” pleaded 
the old attendant, with tears in her eyes. “ I have 
thought of a plan that would suit you and Miss Brend 
also. You remember the letter you received from that 
very, very old lady, Mrs. Vavasour, yesterday, begging 
you to find her a cheerful young companion, one willing 
to live in the remote Scottish Highlands and minister 


edda’s resolve. 


197 


like a daughter to her? You said you would look for 
such a companion to-morrow. Mrs. Vavasour demands 
a lady born and bred, to read to her and sing to her 
and to sit with her, much as Miss Edda has done here. 
Mrs. Vavasour is a grand old lady, and allied 'to the 
nobility. You visit Mrs. Vavasour yourself, Miss Agnace, 
and she is fond of you. Surely you can let Miss Edda 
go to her. Why, she will, be hidden away from all the 
world up there,” the old woman added in a whisper. 

Miss Powys had regained her calmness, and was 
keenly attentive to the words of her confidential atten- 
dant. It was evident that she was taking them into 
serious consideration. 

“ Leave me awhile, Miss Brend,” she said, kindly. 
“ I will consider the matter and let you know my decis- 
ion before you sleep.” 

Edda bowed and withdrew. 

Miss Powys did not go out upon that evening, if she 
had intended doing so. She had a long and troubled 
conference with Mrs. Priggs, and at its conclusion, some 
two hours later, made her way to Edda’s room, knock- 
ing softly fo%: admittance. 

Edda’s clear voice bade her enter, and she went in. 

Edda was sitting near her table, sewing by candle- 
light — gas is seldom used in English bed-rooms. The 
girl was darning the frayed and rusty old black silk 
dress in which she had made her journey to London. 
Miss Powys looked pained. 

“ Edda,” she announced, “ I am come to say that I con- 
sent to your departure.” 

Edda bowed gravely, rising, and placing a chair for 
her employer. 

“ I foresaw your conclusion, Miss Powys,” she said, 
“ and am repairing my gown. I think I will go away in 
the morning, after Mr. Upham goes down to the city.” 


198 


EDDAS RESOLVE. 


“Do not think that you are about to cut yourself loose 
from me,” said Miss Powys, sternly. “ You are not 
going forth from this house whither you will. You are 
a mere baby in knowledge of the world, and I shall 
exercise a supervision over your movements. As you 
heard Priggs say, I had a letter yesterday from a very 
dear and very aged family friend, who is nearly a 
hundred years old. She lives alone in a great old ruined 
castle in the Scottish Highlands, with a troop of faith- 
ful Highland servants. My grandmother and my mother 
and I have all visited her, in our different generations, 
at her place of Ben Storm Castle. It is a wild, secluded 
spot among the mountains. Mrs. Vavasour is growing 
infirm, she writes me, but is very sprightly, considering 
her great age. She is lonely, and wants a cheerful young 
companion.” 

“ I think I might like to serve her,” said Edda. “ Has 
she no relatives ?” 

“Yes, but only two, and they are remote descendants. 
She has outlived all her children and grandchildren, her 
husband, and the friends of her youth. She is peculiar, 
obstinate and wilful, and even her descendants are 
wholly, or in part, estranged from her. Her great- 
granddaughter married Lord Clair, a dissipated man 
who broke his wife’s heart. Mrs. Vavasour disapproved 
of the marriage, and would never see her descendant 
again. But Lord Clair has a daughter, who is engaged 
to marry Lord Ronald Charlton, I have heard. Lord 
Ronald is the grandson of the Earl of Charlewick, to 
whom Racket Hall belongs. Mrs. Vavasour has never 
seen Miss Clair, and will not see her. Miss Clair is the 
only living female descendant of Mrs. Vavasour, but the 
old lady has a great-grandson, a wild young fellow, the 
idol of her heart, whom she brought up, but who has 
fallen into eyil ways, and she refuses now to see even 


edda’s resolve. 


199 


him. So she is entirely alone among her servants. She 
offers a salary of one hundred pounds a year. Will you 
go to her?” 

“ Yes, I will go,” declared Edda, promptly. “ At least 
I shall earn my living there.” 

“ You can start the day after to-morrow, if you choose 
to go so soon. Priggs will accompany you, and I will 
give you a letter of introduction that will clear up any- 
thing that might seem strange about the promptness of 
your arrival. I will write to-morrow, announcing your 
coming, and Priggs will telegraph from Edinburgh to 
Mrs. Vavasour, so that you will not take her by surprise. 
You still insist upon leaving me?” 

Edda replied in the affirmative. 

“Then no better home can be found for you than Ben 
Storm Castle. It is a Providence that Mrs. Vavasour 
should require a companion at this time, and should 
have written to me to find her one as soon as possible. 
I would like you to write to me, Edda, and let me know 
how you like your new home,” added Miss Powys, wist- 
fully. 

“ I will do sq, thank you.” 

“ It will not do to take that worn-out gown with you, 
Edda. Mrs. Vavasour is a very refined gentlewoman, 
and you will be obliged to bestow as much care upon 
dress at Storm Castle as here. You will need an addi- 
tional supply of clothing, which we will purchase to- 
morrow. I will accompany you upon a shopping ex- 
pedition. You must have no false pride, Edda. You 
must take an ample wardrobe, including all you have 
now.” 

Edda was forced to accept as gifts the articles she had 
been too proud heretofore to receive except as loans. 
Miss Powys would not be gainsayed, and Edda did not 
contest the point. It was agreed that nothing was to be 


200 


MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


said by the young girl to Mr. Powys or Mr. Upham con- 
cerning her proposed departure, Miss Powys undertak- 
ing to explain when she had gone. 

Miss Powys remained an hour with Edda, and was 
cold and stately as some dazzling iceberg in the sun- 
shine. Then she went out, and Edda was again alone. 

“ So I am to turn over another leaf in the page of my 
life,” thought the girl. “ I wonder how I shall like ex- 
istence up among the Highlands. I feel an odd sort of 
thrill, as if I were going to some strange fate. I seem 
to be tossed about now like a thistle-down. I believe — 
I do believe — that some great good or evil is to come to 
me out of Ben Storm Castle.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 

Upon the morning subsequent to the occurrences nar- 
rated in the preceding chapter, the various members of 
the banker’s family assembled in the breakfast-room at 
the usual hour, and no one would have dreamed in look- 
ing upon the quiet faces of Miss Powys, Edda and Mr. 
Upham, of the passions and cross-purposes, the bitter- 
ness and hard resolve, lying under such smooth surface. 
Certainly, Mr. Powys, looking over the top of his morn- 
ing paper with his rosy, placid face full of contentment, 
would never have dreamed of the hidden drama work- 
ing itself out under his very eyes. 

He did not notice the unusual silence that prevailed 
upon this morning. He devoured his morning news, 
looked into the latest reports of, foreign stocks and 
moneys, and sipped his coffee leisurely. Mr. Upham ate 


MEETING- AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


201 


his breakfast in some haste and pleading business made 
an early escape. Miss Powys read her letters and pres- 
ently withdrew, Edda accompanying her. 

They went up the broad staircase together. 

“ Come into my room, Miss Brend,” said the banker’s 
heiress, in her low, calm voice. “ I have a few words to 
say to you.” 

Edda followed Miss Powys into her boudoir. 

“ Sit down, Miss Brend. I will not detain you long,” 
said the lady. “ Is it still your intention to leave us ? 
Or have you reconsidered the hasty decision of last 
evening and concluded to remain with me ?” 

“ It is impossible for me to remain,” answered Edda. 

Miss Powys sighed. Evidently she had hoped for a 
different answer. 

“ I have lain awake all night, considering this mat- 
ter,” she said. “ You must not feel that you are driven 
away by Gascoyne Upham, Edda. He cannot harm you 
nor me. He can find out nothing against me — abso- 
lutely nothing. And if there were any secret in my past 
which he could possibly discover, he would not dare re- 
veal it. For him to expose me, his own cousin, would 
be to cover himself with an indelible disgrace. But as 
it may be unpleasant for you to remain under the same 
roof with him, I will hasten my departure into the coun- 
try. Will you go down with me to our country place, 
Edda ?” 

“ I thank you, Miss Powys ; you are very kind,” said 
the girl, steadily; “but it will be better for me to go 
away from you altogether. I shall not forget your 
kindness to one having no claim upon you, but I shall 
be glad to earn my own living.” 

A shadow of pain flitted over the proud, fair face of 
Miss Powys. 

“ I have one more argument to advance,” she said. 


202 


MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


“ Ben Storm is a widely different place from Cavendish 
Square, or our country seat. Here you have walks and 
drives, visits to Sydenham, flower-shows, the Zoo, thea- 
tres and the opera, and down in the country you would 
have scarcely fewer pleasures, driving, boating, picnics, 
excursions, and all the enjoyments of a lively country 
house. I have intended that you should see something 
of society, make acquaintances, and have the pleasures 
of young ladies of your age. I should introduce you 
as the daughter of a very dear school-friend of mine, 
and no one would question your origin. But Ben 
Storm offers a contrast to this picture as wide as between 
bloom and desolation. Ben Storm or Mount Storm, as 
we English would say, is a grand old mountain among 
the Scottish Highlands, with fertile slopes half-way up 
its sides, and with a bald and barren peak, upon which 
sits perched Ben Storm Castle. It is a desolate spot — 
desolate beyond description with a dreariness and lone- 
liness words can not describe. No wonder ‘ the rich 
Miss Vavasour’ married Lord Clair to escape such a 
home. No wonder that Mrs. Vavasour’s great grand- 
son is wild and reckless, and refuses to live from year’s 
end to year’s end at the grim old castle. Why, Edda, 
with your lively disposition you would die there of the 
utter stagnation.” 

“ You forget, Miss Powys, that I was born and bred 
in a desolation scarcely less oppressive,” said Edda. “ I 
confess that after the flatness and dreariness of my 
native moors, a grand old mountain like Ben Storm 
would be delightful.” 

“With pleasant society it might be endurable. I have 
spent many happy weeks there when the castle was filled 
with guests, when ‘ the rich Miss Vavasour,’ as the late 
Lady Clair was then called, was a girl. But old Mrs. 
Vavasour does not like company now, and lives alone 


MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


203 


with her servants, and I hear that she has grown morose 
and fretful and complaining, as one might expect her to 
be at her great age. She is exacting, too. Her com- 
panion’s situation will be no sinecure. Mrs. Vavasour 
will require continual attention. She will have to be 
sung to, talked to, read to, amused and entertained. 
After a whole life of absolute freedom, how will you 
bear such " restraint and confinement, such complete de- 
pendence upon the whims of a doting old lady ?” 

“ I am not one of the favored ones who can shirk the 
annoyances of life,” said Edda. “ I must take things as 
I find them, doing whatever seems to me right and 
best.” 

Miss Powys used arguments, entreaties and bribes, all 
in vain. Edda could not be induced to give over her 
project of earning her living. She was proud, high- 
spirited, and preferred poverty and toil to the false posi- 
tion of her life in Cavendish Square as the protege of the 
banker’s heiress. She was warm-hearted as generous 
and impulsive. She felt a^secret yearning toward Miss 
Powys, and hated herself for it. She thrilled in spite of 
herself under the lady’s glances, and her heart sometimes 
leaped at sound of the lady’s voice. Her whole life was 
a warfare. Believing Miss Powys to be her own mother, 
believing herself wronged, disowned, and cheated of her 
holiest rights, her life, under its present conditions, had 
become torture. She could not bear it longer, and all 
Miss Powys’ persuasions were wasted upon her. 

“ I will settle upon you a handsome income this day, 
if you will remain, Edda,” said the lady at last, as a 
final bribe. 

Edda smiled bitterly. 

“ I am not one to accept charity,” she answered, “ but 
I thank you all the same, Miss Powys.” 

“ Have you no heart, Edda — ” 


204 


MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


The lightning leaped to the girl’s eyes. 

“ I have as much heart as the mother who abandoned 
me and refused to own me as hers,” she said, scathingly. 
“ This scene is becoming painful to me, Miss Powys. 
Let us end it.” 

A spasm of pain convulsed the lady’s features but she 
responded, coldly : 

“ The brougham will be at the door at eleven o’clock, 
Miss Brend. Be ready to attend me upon a shopping 
excursion.” 

Edda bowed and withdrew. 

At the appointed hour, dressed in her black silk cos- 
tume, and wearing a jaunty round hat, Edda followed 
her patroness into the brougham, and they were driven 
to Regent street. 

The shopping excursion had been organized solely for 
Edda’s benefit. Miss Powys bought for her costumes 
of black silk, brown silk, and gray silk, costumes of 
cashmere, serge, linsey, of muslins, grenadines, and 
pique, dresses for morning aq*i evening, for church and 
for visiting, and all other possible occasions. It was an 
outfit suitable for an heiress. Edda vainly protested 
against this lavish expenditure for her. Miss Powys 
replied that Mrs. Vavasour was peculiar, that she liked 
well-dressed people about her, and that the outfit was 
indispensable. 

“ It seems absurd to think of a companion obeying 
the beck and call of her mistress, and wearing a suit of 
black silk trimmed with costly guipure lace and real 
jet,” said Edda, smiling. “ I never had but two gowns 
at a time in my life, Miss Powys. I shall feel burdened 
under all this weight of finery.” 

Edda’s objections were not even considered. It almost 
seemed that Miss Powys was trying to stifle the voice of 
er conscience or the clamors of her heart under all this 


MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


205 


weight of finery and frippery. She went on with her 
purchases as if she found comfort in doing something 
for Edda. She bought bonnets and hats, gloves and 
boots, under-linen and lingerie, and concluded by the 
purchase of a set of magnificent rubies, not at all ap- 
propriate to a hired companion, but superb enough to 
excite attention at a queen’s drawing-room. 

Edda was only a young girl, with a girl’s love of beau- 
tiful objects, and her dusky eyes glowed and her olive 
cheeks flushed as she contemplated the earrings, brooch, 
bracelets, necklace and pendant, all set with great glow- 
ing jewels like vivid coals of fire. And yet when Miss 
Powys told her, with a smile, that these also were for 
her, she refused them with a proud bitterness and ill- 
concealed scorn. 

“ I am not an Esau,” she said, almost inaudibly. “ I 
will not sell my birthright for a mess of pottage.” 

The purchase being concluded, Miss Powys swept 
back to the waiting brougham, Edda following. The 
obsequious shopman came after, bearing in his hands the 
gold-bound casket containing the gems, and he placed 
the precious receptable at Miss Powys’ feet. The order 
was given to return home, and they returned to Caven- 
dish Square. 

Miss Powys seemed to be deeply wounded, and did 
not speak during the drive. Edda was equally silent. 
On arriving home, Miss Powys passed into the house. 
The young companion was about to follow her, when 
she caught sight of a black, thin, bowed, shambling 
figure of a man, dressed in seedy black, and wearing a 
muffler and great-coat, and carrying a closed umbrella. 
This man, at first glance, was seen to be of the species 
known as broken-down gentlemen. It needed no second 
glance to assure Edda that he was her old guardian, Mr. 
Nizbit. 


206 


MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


He was proceeding very slowly and gazing very earn- 
estly at the door-plates upon the houses, and Edda knew 
instinctively that he was looking for the mansion of Mr. 
Powys, from which he was still two houses distant. 

The girl ran lightly up the steps, entering the 'cool, 
marble-paved hall. Miss Powys had already disap- 
peared, and the liveried footman who held open the 
door was the only inmate of the mansion within view. 
Edda sought and found the key of the green inclosure 
in the centre of the square, and said : 

“ Thomas, if Miss Powys inquires for me, say that I 
have taken the garden key and am in the square.” 

With this she descended the house-steps, the door 
closing behind her. As she reached the sidewalk, she 
met Mr. Nizbit face to face. He had seen the brougham 
drive up, had seen the ladies alight, and had recognized 
Edda. He had been about to ascend the steps of the 
Powys mansion, when Edda came down to him. 

“ Is it you, uncle ?” exclaimed Edda, “ Where are 
you going ?” 

“ Why, it’s Edda !” ejaculated Mr. Nizbit, in his well- 
remembered fretful tones, drawing back and looking at 
the girl querulously. “ How you shocked me, child 
coming down upon me so suddenly ! With my delicate 
nerves, such a surprise is very unwholesome. You’ve 
set my heart to palpitating — oh, dear, where are my 
salts ?” 

He began to fumble in his pockets for one bottle out 
of the store he always carried with him. 

“ What do you want here ?” asked Edda. “ Were you 
coming to see me ?” 

“ Yes — yes,” said Mr. Nizbit, snuffing vigorously at his 
bottle of sal-volatile, and speaking in a die-away whisper. 
“You are just the same heartless creature as of old, 


MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


207 


Edda. Take me into the house. I — I think I am going 
to faint — ” 

“ Don’t faint here,” returned Edda, coolly. “ There’s 
a policeman at the corner, and as sure as you faint he’ll 
take you to the hospital. Come across the street with 
me. You may take my arm, if you choose, and lean upon 
me. If you want an interview with me we can have a 
private one out of doors.” 

Mr. Nizbit would have protested — he wanted to enter 
the Powys mansion — but Edda’s strong young spirit 
overpowered his feebler one, and she had her way. He 
took her arm, leaning heavily ppon her, and submitted 
to be led across the street to the enclosed garden. Edda 
unlocked the gate and they entered. 

“There’s no one here, as it happens,” said the girl, 
looking in vain for nurses and children within the garden 
precincts. “ We have got the place all to ourselves. Sit 
down there in the shade on that bench.” 

Mr. Nizbit obeyed, seating himself with an audible 
squeak, an odd little gasp, which seemed to signify that 
his joints needed oiling. Edda secured the gate and 
came and sat down beside him. 

“What do you w r ant of me ?” she demanded, in her 
straightforward way. “ What were you going to Miss 
Powys’ house for ?” 

“Your brusqueness makes every nerve in my body 
quiver, Edda,” complained Mr. Nizbit, fretfully. “You 
haven’t improved a bit since you came to London. Mod- 
erate your tones. Speak in a whisper. Gently — gently. 
Ah, a rough wind should never ruffle the surface of my 
sensitive soul. I am tortured daily — hourly. My spirit 
is attuned to finer sights and sounds than they encounter 
here on earth.” 

“That is your misfortune, not your fault,” said Edda, 
cheerfully. 


208 


MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


“ Misfortune — fault !” gasped Mr. Nizbit. 

“It can’t be possible that you have come in search of 
me to tell me that your soul is sensitive,” said Edda, her 
keen, cool glance seriously discomposing him. “ A fig 
for your nerves. What do you want ?” 

“ I have come from Great Ormond street,” snuffled 
Mr. Nizbit, “ in a cab, jolting over pavements, been 
nearly run into a dozen times, and have suffered untold 
agonies during the journey, and all to be received in this 
heartless manner. Not even invited into your grand 
house. Not even offered a glass of wine to recruit my 
strength. But ushered into an out-door place like this, 
a resort of nurses and children, with a hard bench to sit 
on — I never expected such heartless ingratitude even 
from you, Edda. My cab is waiting for me at the corner, 
I almost think I had better go away again as I came. I 
can come again some day when I feel better — if I ever 
do.” 

“Just as you like, Mr. Nizbit, only if you have any- 
thing to say to me you’d better say it now. I am to 
leave London to-morrow morning.” 

Mr. Nizbit applied his vinaigrette to his nose and 
sniffed and moaned feebly, while his querulous eyes 
surveyed closely the girl’s elegant costume. He had 
never in all his life seen her look so dainty, so refined, 
so beautiful, and the bright piquancy that distinguished 
her had never been more apparent. She looked like a 
petted daughter of wealth, without a care or anxiety to 
trouble her. Mr. Nizbit had an eye for details, and 
noted even the pale gray gloves that fitted her small 
hands so faultlessly, the rings swinging in her tiny ears, 
the black kid boots incasing her little high-arched foot. 

“.I see that you are in clover now, Edda,” he said, 
presently. “ You don’t look much like the girl who left 
Racket Hall alone and on foot, in shabby gown and 


MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


209 


half-worn shoes. I was right in my belief, was I not ? 
Miss Powys is your mother ?” 

“ She says she is not,” answered Edda, quietly. 

“ What, she will not own that she is your mother ? 
Astonishing ! And yet she has taken you into her house, 
it seems. You drove up quite like a princess. Who 
was the lady with you ?” 

“ Miss Powys,” said Edda, astonished. “ Did you 
not know her? Is it possible that you have been mis- 
taken ? — that I have accused her falsely ? Is she not 
your ‘ little Mrs. Brend ?’ ” 

Was that Miss Powys — that stately blonde woman ? 
That Miss Powys !” muttered Mr. Nizbit, with a look of 
uneasiness. “ Mrs. Brend was smaller, not so tall, and 
had nothing of that grand, commanding air. Miss 
Powys looks younger than I thought. She seems about 
eight-and-twenty, but Mrs. Brend must be six*and- 
thirtv.” 

“ Then you are not sure that Miss Powys is Mrs. 
Brend ? You could not swear to the identity of the one 
with the other ?” 

“No — no,” said Mr. Nizbit, helplessly. “There is 
some resemblance, a sort of family likeness, as you 
might say, but I can’t swear — I’m not altogether sure — 
the thing’s a terrible puzzle, anyhow. You say she says 
she is not your mother?” 

“ She utterly repudiates me.” 

“ But you live with her,” said Mr. Nizbit, bewildered. 
“You drive with her. You dress elegantly.” 

“ I am her hired companion,” declared Edda. 

“ When I came to London, I came directly to her. She 
professes to have known my mother. If she is not my 
mother, she is interested in me and knows the whole 
secret of my origin, refusing, however, to tell it to me. 

I am only a hired servant in that grand house, and I 


210 


MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


wear these fine clothes because she likes people around 
her to be well dressed. I am well treated, and Miss 
Powys would like me to remain with her. Nevertheless, 
I leave her to-morrow for a new situation in the 
country.” 

Mr. Nizbit stared at the girl in increasing bewilder- 
ment. Even he could detect from her tone that she 
was unrestful, unsatisfied, unhappy. 

“ Why, I supposed you were happy and at home 
here,” he exclaimed. “ Shortly after I came to London, 
I felt some curiosity as to what had become of you, and 
came here one morning in a cab, which I left at the cor- 
ner yonder as I did this time. I walked slowly around 
the square, and saw you at an upper window, so I knew 
that you had been taken in and cared for. I forgot the 
number of the house — or I did not ascertain it, I forget 
which* — so I had some difficulty in finding the place to- 
day. And so you are going to leave Miss Powys ! 
Strange ! Yet you say she seems to know your entire 
history. You do not know whether she is or is not your 
mother ?” 

“ No, I don’t know.” 

“I wish I could be certain that she is Mrs. Brend,” 
sighed Mr. Nizbit. “ But nineteen years would inevit- 
ably have changed her greatly, and I have seen her but 
once during the long interval, and then I wasn’t alto- 
gether certain, although I felt a conviction that the 
Miss Powys I saw entering a carriage from yonder 
house was Mrs. Brend. But one thing I will swear to. 

I saw the ‘Mrs. Catharine’ who nursed Mrs. Brend, who 
made me annual visits at Racket Hall, and paid me the 
money for your support, enter the house with the door- 
plate bearing the name of Powys engraved upon it, and 
I know she belongs there.” 

“ She does. She is Miss Powys’ own maid.” 


MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


211 


“She was little Mrs. Brend’s own maid. Singular 
coincidence !” 

“ What was your object in coming to see me to-day ?” 
inquired Edda. “ Not to utter these vain speculations 
and uncertain remembrances ?” 

“ Can I not have come to see you out of affection ?” 

“ No, you cannot,” answered Edda, frankly. 

“ But, my dear child — ” 

“Oh, nonsense, Mr. Nizbit. You know I’m not used 
to that style of address, and I don’t like it. I’m not 
dear to you, nor are you to me. You allowed me to 
live in your house some nineteen years, but your wife 
and my governesses kept me out of your sight and hear- 
ing lest I should damage your fragile nerves, and you 
were well paid for giving me shelter. So you have not 
come to see me out of affection. What is your object ?” 

“ Still the same vixenish temper — still the same pep- 
pery creature !” moaned Mr. Nizbit, indulging in a little 
strengthening draught from a pocket-flask which he 
sheltered behind his pocket-handkerchief. “I’m a poor, 
feeble being, unfitted to cope with you, Edda. You 
overpower me. You are all life and vitality, and I am 
so weak that a rough wind may extinguish my lamp of 
life. No one knows — ” 

“Perhaps no one wants to know,” said Edda, with 
exasperating want of feeling. “Are you living with 
your niece ?” 

“ Yes. She is a most unfeeling creature,” remarked 
Mr. Nizbit, with a sigh, as he consigned his flask to his 
pocket — “a great, rude, boisterous woman, weighing 
fourteen stone if she weighs a pennyweight. Her hus- 
band is a vulgar little red-faced man, a regular cockney, 
who says ‘ ’ow ?’ when he fails to understand me, and 
calls me ‘ Huncle.’ How shall I endure it ? My nerves 
are torn daily. My life is wasting as surely as a lighted 


212 


MEETING- AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


candle. And that miserable pair have nine frowsy 
children, the noisiest on the face of the earth, and they 
keep only one slip-shod, unkempt maid-of-all-work. Oh, 
if I were only dead !” and Mr. Nizbit shed a few tears 
in a feeble sort of way. 

“ Isn’t your niece good to you ?” 

“I suppose so — in her way. But a bouncing sort of 
woman is my aversion. She shakes the house when she 
walks. She screams at the maid-of-all-work over the 
balusters. She sings, and so does the maid — and such 
singing ! And the children are always bawling. And 
when my niece’s husband comes home, he slams the 
hall-door and skips up the stairs like a boy to the nur- 
sery, and calls out, ‘ ’Ennery’, ‘’Oward’,. ‘ Halbert’, 
‘Hemmer’ and so on, .and says, ‘ ’Ow’s Nunky’s liver 
and ’art, and dognoses to-day ?’ and I loathe my life. I 
was never able to bear anything approaching to vulgar-, 
ity. And their house is always reeking with the smells 
of cabbages, onions, and they’re always eating Aus- 
tralian meat, and no one considers that I require tempt- 
ing food and sherry and wine jellies and delicacies — oh, 
dear, oh, dear ! If I had only died when my poor faith- 
ful Maria died, and been buried with her in one grave ! 
She spent her life in cooking dishes to tempt my frail 
appetite, and in waiting on me and ministering to me.” 

The miserable hypochondriac shed a few more tears. 
Edda was singularly unsympathetic. Perhaps she 
thought that Mr. Nizbit’s relatives were as unfortunate 
as he, and had rights as well as he. 

“I must find a new home for myself,” resumed Mr. 
Nizbit, in a whining voice. “And after a long conflict 
with myself, I have concluded to see Miss Powys, and 
ask her for the year’s payment which was unjustly with- 
held from me. Mrs. Catharine always paid me one hun- 
dred pounds a year. If I had a hundred pounds now, 


MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


213 


I would go down to Brighton and try the sea air, or 
perhaps Torquay might suit me better.” 

“I was kept. like a charity-girl during that unpaid-for 
year,” said Edda, gravely. “ I had not clothes as good 
as those of your cook. My keeping was not worth over 
fifty pounds, yet I will guarantee you the payment of 
the whole hundred pounds if you’ll wait till I earn the 
money. I would not remain indebted to you over night 
if I could pay you.” 

“ Won’t Miss Powys pay it ?” 

“ \Yhy should she ? She does not own me for her 
daughter. I will borrow the money of her, much as I 
dislike to do so, if you will promise me never to speak 
to her about me, never to solicit money of her, and never 
to speak her name to anyone besides me. And you 
must promise also never to mention my name nor his- 
tory to anyone.” 

“ I will promise — swear to it, if you desire,” said Mr. 
Nizbit, his courage rising. “ A hundred pounds all my 
own, I shall know again some degree pf comfort. I will 
take rooms at Brighton, keep a servant to wait upon me, 
and walk upon the pier, and ride in an invalid-chair 
every day, and drink strengthening wines.” 

“ But when your money is gone, what will you do ?” 

“ Go back to the stuffy little house in Great Ormond 
street, to the onion smell, the Australian meat, and the 
children, I suppose,” said Mr. Nizbit. “ But in the 
meantime I shall have had months — perhaps a year — 
of comfort. When my money is gone, I can go back to 
my niece, you know.” 

The selfishness of Mr. Nizbit bordered upon sublim- 
ity. 

“ It will be a year of comfort to the poor niece also,” 
said Edda. “ If you’ll wait here, Mr. Nizbit, I’ll run 
across the street and get your money for you.” 


214 


ON THE TRAIL. 


Mr. Nizbit signified that he would wait with pleasure, 
and Edda unlocked the gate and let herself out into the 
street. She locked the gate again and put the key in 
her pocket, paying no heed to the feeble remonstrance 
of Mr. Nizbit, who did not fancy being locked in, and 
who came slowly up to the railing and looked out. As 
Edda turned away to cross the street, she looked up 
and beheld Miss Powys looking down upo’n her from 
the window of her boudoir, and in the same moment 
she heard a man’s step on the walk almost beside her. 
The step was that of Mr. Upham, who had crossed the 
street unseen by her, and who now exclaimed, with a 
glance at Mr. Nizbit : 

“ Is it really you, Edda ? I saw you across the street 
and am come to escort you home. Are you holding a 
meeting with some man you used to know ? It can’t 
be possible that my good fortune has befriended me in 
a matter that interests me above all others ? It can’t be 
that this gentleman is your early guardian — your 
uncle ?” 

Mr. Upham looked from Edda to Mr. Nizbit and back 
again for a reply. 


CHAPTER XX. 

ON THE TRAIL. 

The ringing of the garden-bell, occurring at a moment 
so critical to Lord Ronald Charlton, held him for a brief 
space motionless, almost breathless. The sound ceased, 
was repeated, again ceased and was again repeated, in 
a manner that had been unmistakably preconcerted as 
a signal. It was no street urchin who thus pulled at the 
bell ; no trades man’s boy ; but one whose errand was 


ON THE TRAIL. 


215 


secret and imperative. Lord Ronald believed that the 
person seeking admission was his uncle, the Earl of 
Charlewick. 

He returned to his task of freeing himself with an 
energy which was grown calm in very desperation. 

Again he searched the pockets of the pretended old 
man, Pietro, and, as before, he failed to find the keys of 
his fetters. He felt in Pietro’s bosom, but the keys 
were not there. 

Again the bell sounded, sharply, commandingly. 

The pretended old man still lay stunned and helpless, 
but he must soon revive. Ronald believed still that the 
keys were upon Pietro’s person, and proceeded to make 
a yet closer examination. He pulled off his keeper’s 
boots, and found concealed in them the keys. 

To unlock the fetters on his wrists and ankles- was 
the work of a moment. 

He had no time for exultation in the recovery of his 
freedom. Flinging aside the key of the fetters, he bent 
over his prostrate keeper a second, and then hurried 
from the room. He paused in the hall to lock the door 
of the room which had now become Pietro’s prison. 

“He’ll break out easily enough,” thought Lord Ron- 
ald. “ It will not be difficult for a desperate man, with 
the free use of all his limbs, to burst a lock like this. 
But I can count on his remaining in a stupor for a full 
half hour, I think. Ah, there goes the bell again !” 

He went into the drawing-room and took up his hat, 
which was still upon the table. He glanced in the 
mirror, and was startled at his own reflection. He was 
paler than when the fever had left him, and the several 
days’ beard upon his cheeks and chin did not improve 
his appearance. He put on his hat, brushed his dusty 
garments, and descended the stairs, passing out into the 
garden. 


216 


ON THE TRAIL. 


He moved feebly and with some uncertainty, his 
shackles having weakened his ankles and stiffened his 
legs. He proceeded down the shaded walk to the gar- 
den gate. The ringing had ceased. He stood on the 
grass close to the wall and listened, catching the sound 
of steps retreating down the street. 

“ He may have gone, thinking old Pietro out at some 
shop,” he thought. “In that case, he — whoever he may 
be — will be back again presently.” 

He cautiously pulled open a little wicket in the gate 
and peered out. There was no one without. The visi- 
tor was gone. 

The key of the garden -dpor was in a little niche of the 
stone gate-post. Lord Ronald applied the key to the 
lock, unfastened the chains, and swung open the gate. 
Then he passed out upon the sidewalk. 

He moved with difficulty along the street, feeling stiff 
in every joint. He saw no cabs nor omnibuses, and but 
few pedestrians — certainly no one resembling the Earl 
of Charlewick. 

He turned the nearest corner, and presently beheld 
in advance of him a loitering figure, with peculiarly 
quiet carriage and step, which grew, during the next few 
minutes, to look strangely familiar to him. 

He kept his eyes upon this figure, steadily gaining 
upon it. It was not long before he was so near to it as 
to recognize it fully as the figure of his sleek, smooth, 
downcast-eyed valet, John Diggs !” 

In the very moment of his recognition of him, the 
valet turned to retrace his steps and found himself face 
to face with Lord Ronald. 

The valet’s face grew strangely white ; his eyes 
started ; he stepped backwards in a strange confusion 
and amazement, gasping his master’s name. 


ON THE TRAIL. 


217 


Lord Ronald was himself too much excited to see 
anything strange in the manner of his servant. 

His lordship little suspected that the pretended old 
man of Vine Lodge whom he had known as Pietro was 
no other than Peter Diggs of Little Charlewick, and the 
brother of his own trusted servant, else his greeting of 
John Diggs might have been widely different. 

“ Diggs !” exclaimed Lord Ronald. “ You here ! 
What a strange meeting !” 

“ It is Lord Ronald !” faltered Diggs. “ Oh, my 
young master, we thought you were dead. We did in- 
deed. And»you are living after all, Dios be praised ! 
But where have you been ? How strange you look ! 
We thought you must have been murdered, my lord ! ” 

“ How came you here at Hackney ?” demanded Lord 
Ronald, ignoring his valet’s questions. 

“ You remember, my lord, that you said you would go 
to Hackney on that last day — that awful day when you 
disappeared,” said Diggs, “ and though I did not think 
that you could have come here after all, yet I have been 
here day after day, up and down the streets, on the com- 
mon and on the downs, inquiring and searching, but all 
to no purpose. I believed that you were dead, my lord, 
though I kept on searching for some clue to your fate, 
and you might have knocked me down with a feather 
when I turned around just now and saw you.” 

It seemed indeed that Diggs told the truth, for he was 
trembling still as with an ague, and his eyes had still 
their frightened expression which had come into them 
when he had first beheld Lord Ronald. 

“ I came out of Orkney Road just now, Diggs,” said 
the young lord. “ Have you been in it recently ?” 

“ What, sir ? Orkney Road ? No, my lord. I’ve been 
up and down this street, my lord, once or twice, at my 
wit’s end where to go next, t was in Orkney Road yes- 


218 


ON THE TRAIL. 


terday. A cab came out of Orkney Road a few minutes 
ago, going like steam, and as it whirled past I saw Lord 
Charlewick’s face peering out of the window. The cab 
had been waiting for him at the corner,” said Diggs, 
glibly, “and I saw his lordship come swiftly out of Ork- 
ney Road and get into it, although I did not recognize 
him. until he passed me. It’s odd that the earl and your 
lordship and I should all be in Hackney at the same 
time, and all meet, as you may say, my lord.” 

“Ah ! You are sure you saw the earl come out of 
Orkney Road, enter a cab, and drive past you ? You 
knew him beyond all doubt ?” 

“Knew him, my lord ? Any one who has once seen 
the ugly black face of the earl is not likely to forget it,” 
said Diggs, emphatically. “Oh, my lord, had the earl 
anything to do with your long absence ? Have you been 
robbed or maltreated by thieves ? Have — ” 

“ Never mind my adventures now, Diggs. Has any- 
thing been heard from Miss Clair ? Has any letter 
arrived for me ?” 

“ Nothing has been heard of or from Miss Clair, my 
lord,” replied Diggs. “ Plenty of letters have been for- 
warded to you from Little Charlewick, but none within 
a week. The news of your disappearance has spread all 
over England, and I’m dying, my lord, to hear — ” 

“ Where is Mr. Hartson, Diggs ?” 

“ He’s somewhere about Lunnon, my lord, and will 
be back at the hotel to dinner. He’s fearfully cut up 
about your loss, Lord Ronald. He thinks the earl has 
had you put out of the way. Mr. Hartson thinks as 
much of you as if you were his own flesh and blood my 
lord. He—” 

An empty cab came into the street at this moment, 
and Lord Ronald signaled it. It drew up at the curb, 
and the young lord entered it and gave the address of 


OK THE TRAIL. 


219 


his hotel. Diggs mounted to the box, and the cab pro- 
ceeded to its new destination. 

It was'a long drive from Hackney to the West End, 
and our hero was thoroughly tired by the time he 
reached his hotel. He was greeted with wonder and 
amazement. Leaving Diggs to answer all inquiries, he 
Went up to his own room, took a bath, shaved his face, 
excepting his upper lip, changed his clothes, read his 
letters, and flung himself upon a couch. 

A delicious sense of languor and restfulness was be- 
ginning to steal over his tired frame when he was aroused 
by a quick tread in the hall, and Hartson the lawyer 
came hurrying in, all joy and astonishment. 

Lord Ronald arose, and the two men clasped hands in 
a deep and fervid silence. 

“ Thank God !” said Hartson at last, in a voice of 
deep emotion. “ I feared that you were dead.” 

“ Have you found any clue to the whereabouts of 
Miss Clair ?” 

“ None, whatever. I seem to have been surrounded 
with mysteries of late, but the clouds are beginning to 
lighten. We need not fear for Miss Clair’s life, but I 
have feared for yours, Lord Ronald !” 

“ My life has been in no danger, Hartson. Lord 
Charlewick entrapped me cleverly, and has had me shut 
up at a house he hired for the purpose in Hackney 
under the care of some minion of his own. He wanted 
to keep me out of the way until he should have married 
Miss Clair.” 

“You will make him smart for this high-handed out- 
rage, Lord Ronald, of codrse?” 

“ My first care must be to find Miss Clair. All merely 
personal considerations become insignificant in com- 
parison with her safety. I do not fear that her life is 
in danger, but she will be told that I am false, or dead ; 


220 


ON THE TRAIL. 


she will see the notices of my singular disappearance ; 
and will be persecuted by her father and the earl until 
her life has become a burden. She has been, missing 
nearly two months. Where can she be ?.” 

“You look tired and weak, Lord Ronald,” said Hart- 
son, dextrously changing the subject. “ Have you had 
food or drink since you came in ?” 

The young lord replied in the negative. 

Hartson rang the bell and ordered dinner to be served 
for Lord Ronald and himself in their own parlor. He 
also ordered a bottle of sherry, which was brought up 
immediately. Ronald drank a half glass of sherry and 
returned to his sofa. And then, lying back at his ease 
among the cushions, he told the story of his singular 
captivity at Vine Lodge, and narrated the manner of his 
escape. Hartson listened eagerly, weighing the facts 
judicially. 

“The earl has not been over two months at Charle- 
wick,” said the lawyer at last. “Where did he pick up 
this Pietro ?” 

“ Perhaps he brought him with him on his return to 
England,” said Lord Ronald. “ But why do we assume 
that the earl has been out of England during his 
twenty years of absence and silence ? He is a strange, 
secret, mysterious man. He may have been in England 
all these years under a disguise. I have heard of such 
things.” 

“ So have I, my lord ; but the earl, I am convinced, 
came from some foreign country when he returned to 
Charlewick-le-Grand. He had a foreign sort of look. 
He has been in a hotter climate than that of England, 1 
am sure.” 

“In Spain, perhaps. This Pietro had a Spanish look.” 

“ Diggs told me below that you were found, and 
how he came upon you,” said Hartson. “ Diggs has 


ON THE TRAIL. 


221 


really won my good opinion during your absence, Lord 
Ronald. He has been untiring in his search for you, 
has labored day and night to find you, and exhibited an 
actual affection for you. He is not like the rest of his 
family — but there’s generally an odd sheep in every 
flock. He told me the day you disappeared that he had 
no idea where you had gone, but the next day he said 
something about Hackney, and we spent three or four 
days in exploring that region and the eastern districts.” 

They continued their conversation until the waiters 
came up with the dinner, which presented a striking 
contrast to the frugal meals Lord Ronald had known 
of late. Diggs, sleek and silent, made his appearance, 
and took his place behind his master’s chair. He was 
able to gather a pretty clear idea of Lord Ronald’s 
recent adventures through the scraps of conversation he 
was enabled to pick up during the course of the meal, 
and it might have been noticed that his brow was con- 
siderably lighter and his manner more assured when at 
length the remains of the dinner had been removed and 
he was dismissed. 

“ You look a thousand per cent, better, Lord Ronald,” 
said Hartson, smiling, when the two were alone together. 
“When I came in, you looked like a ghost and were 
all a-tremble. Now there is color in your cheeks, and 
light in your eyes. I think, perhaps, I may now ven- 
ture to place in your hands a slender little clue that 
may lead to our discovery of Miss Clair.” 

“A clue! You said you had found none.” 

“ No clue to her whereabouts — her actual abode,” said 
the lawyer. “ That is true. But in the course of my 
researches I have stumbled upon her very track. She 
is not in London.” 

“ No ; I knew that.” 

“She could not be traced at the railway stations or 


222 


ON THE TRAIL. 


shipping offices, because she left London in a carriage,” 
continued the lawyer, with a little flush of triumph. 
“She was accompanied by her father and her maid. 
She drove to Dover in easy stages, and crossed the 
Channel. She was seen at Paris a week after leaving 
Charlewick-le-Grand, but she was very secluded while 
in Paris, not going out among English residents at all. 
A friend of mine, whom I met the other day on Regent 
street, and who lives at Exeter, and who-knows Miss 
Clair very well by sight, declared to me that he saw her 
in a carriage in the Bois du Boulogne, in company with 
her father, and that she bowed to him. My friend thinks 
that Miss Clair is still in Paris, in private lodgings, in a 
secluded quarter, under the close guardianship of her 
father.” 

“ We must start for Paris to-night.” 

“ Following up my search for you, I made another dis- 
covery, Lord Ronald. On the very night of your dis- 
appearance Lord Charlewick left Charing Cross for 
Paris, via Dover and Calais.” 

“That proves that Miss Clair and her father are in 
Paris most conclusively. Diggs saw the earl at Hackney 
to-day, so his lordship is in London. He has pro- 
bably come to make some arrangements about me. 
While he is occupied in searching for me in London, we 
must be on our way to Paris, and must find Miss Clair.” 

According with this resolution, Lord Ronald Charlton, 
Hartson, and the sleek and drooping-eyed Diggs, set 
out that very evening by the night mail for Paris. 


LA TOUR DE ST. PIERRE. 


223 


CHAPTER XXI. 

LA TOUR DE ST. PIERRE. 

Upon the coast of Normandy, in France, upon a tall, 
precipitous bluff, overlooking the English Channel, 
stands a quaint gray old chateau, with a round tower 
so close upon the edge of the dizzy cliff, that it seems to 
over-hang the water. This tower, two stories higher 
than the main edifice, terminates at its top in a cone- 
like peak, and with its narrow, slit-like windows and 
massive rough stone walls, preserves a strangely feudal 
aspect. From the top of the tower to the water lashing 
the base of the steep cliff on which it is perched, is a 
sheer descent of nearly three hundred feet. The chateau, 
which seems but an appendage to the tower, is of more 
modern origin, and is a long, picturesque pile, with hang- 
ing windows, airy balconies, a stately entrance porch, 
and a long cloister-like colonnade, and is crowned with 
a stately Mansard roof, in which are set innumerable 
casement windows. The trees of the outlying park — or 
wood, as it is always called — shut closely in around the 
dwelling upon three sides like a grim army of defenders, 
but on the western side the cliff presents its bold, inac- 
cessible front to the sea, and no screen from the winds 
is permitted in this direction. ~ 

The chateau, taking name from the tower, is known 
as La Tour de St. Pierre. It is the ancestral home of a 
noble but impoverished Norman family, which in the 
present generation has dwindled to a single representa- 
tive, who spends the larger portion of every year in 
Paris, going to Vichy and Biarritz in the season with 


224 : 


LA TOUR DE ST. PIERRE. 


the fashionable world, and spending a fortnight of every 
year in the hunting season at his chateau. The sterile 
farms belonging to the estate are let out by the owner’s 
shrewd agent to peasants, from whom the last franc of 
rental possible is extracted ; but the Count de St. Pierre 
retains for his own use the chateau and park, with the 
right of hunting over the farms. He invariably brings 
with him upon his annual visits to his home a party of 
masculine friends, whose advent is always dreaded, and 
whose departure is always hailed with joy, by the farm- 
tenants. 

The Count de St. Pierre and Lord Clair were inti- 
mate friends, the English baron having spent many 
years in Paris, and Lord Clair had often visited the 
count’s chateau in Normandy. The count was a bach- 
elor, a member of the French Jockey Club, a frequenter 
of the boulevards, a fashionable idler, but, withal, a firm 
upholder of parental authority, and, like most French- 
men, a firm believer in the right of parent to dispose of 
the hand of his daughter in marriage. 

It therefore happened that while Lord Ronald Charl- 
ton was searching everywhere about London for Hel- 
lene, and undergoing imprisonment upon her account 
in the little villa at Hackney, Lord Clair and his daugh- 
ter were safely domiciled in the secluded Tour de St. 
Pierre, upon the coast of Normandy. 

The manner in which their installation at the chateau 
had been brought about was exceedingly simple. 

-Lord Clair had* taken his daughter, with her maid, up 
to London, and to a private family hotel, as is already 
known to the reader. His demeanor toward Hellene 
from the moment of leaving Charlwick-le-Grand had 
been marked by a gentleness and consideration which, 
if it had not vfbn her heart, had at least won her con- 
fidence. 


LA TOUR BE ST. PIERRE. 225 

On leaving 'the hotel, Lord Clair had conveyed his 
daughter with her attendant by post-chaise to Dover, 
avoiding the railway in order to elude Ronald’s ex- 
pected pursuit. Hellene was not permitted to know her 
intended destination until they were actually in sight 
of the channel. Then, in response to her questionings, 
her father laughed lightly, and said : 

“ So, you thought we were on our way to your country 
seat of Rosemount in Essex, Hellene ? I know I gave 
you that impression, but Rosemount is in the hands of 
a tenant, my dear, and we could not occupy it if we 
wished. The truth is, I have planned a little surprise 
for you. You need a change of air and scene. You are 
depressed with the recent death of the old Earl of 
Charlewick, and I am going to take you over to France, 
where I have lived so long. How will that please you, 
my dear ?” 

“Very well, papa,” said Hellene, with a sigh, as she 
thought of Lord Ronald. “ But is not June unseason- 
able for Paris ?” 

“The weather is cool and the summer is late. Be- 
sides, we shall not stop over a week in Paris, and you 
are in no frame of mind to see society, even if your deep 
mourning did not compel your seclusion. Your health 
and happiness are to be my chief care, and so I have 
planned to take a leisurely journey with you through 
France in a private carriage out of the beaten track, and 
make you acquainted with French people and French 
scenery, as few English people ever become acquainted 
with them. After a delightful summer we will return 
to England for the winter, and you shall decide where 
our winter residence shall be. Perhaps we may even 
obtain possession of your favorite Rosemount by skill- 
ful negotiation with its present tenant.” 

The programme thus indicated pleased Hellene as 


226 


LA TOUR DE ST. PIERRE. 


well as any other that could have been devised. She 
knew nothing, and her father was equally ignorant, of 
the encounter in Charlewick Park between the earl and 
Lord Ronald, and of the dangerous ensuing illness of 
the latter. She believed that her lover would seek her 
out wherever she might be, and she intended to write to 
him secretly on arriving at Paris. No thought of per- 
sonal danger entered her mind. She was confident that 
she could not be married to Lord Charlewick against 
her will, and equally confident that nothing could ever 
occur to cause her to think more favorably of him. 

“ I am glad that I am to go to the Continent,” she 
thought. “ I shall see no more of the earl until we re- 
turn to England, while Ronald will follow me, I know. 
Whatever his business and cares, I shall see him some- 
times and receive his letters often.” 

In this belief, Hellene was cheerful and hopeful. 

They crossed the Channel to Calais by a night boat, 
and journeyed on to Paris by the connecting mail train, 
arriving at the French capital at an early hour of the 
morning. Lord Clair possessed a suite of apartments 
in a quiet street of the Fabourg St. Germain, and the 
little party proceeded thither without unnecessary 
delay. 

They remained a week in Paris, and it was during 
this brief stay that Hellene was seen and recognized by 
the Devonshire acquaintance who had given lawyer 
Hartson the clue to her whereabouts. 

One of the first acts of Hellene upon the first day of 
her stay in Paris was to write to her lover. Hellene’s 
maid addressed the letter and undertook to post it. 
Attiring herself for the street, the maid descended to the 
ground floor, letter in hand, and addressed herself in 
English to the concierge. 

“ The post-office, Mees ? It is too far. The lettare-box 


LA TOUR DE ST. PIERRE. 


227 


it is what you want. It is not necessaire that you go 
out alone to post the lettare,” said the concierge, good- 
naturedly. “ Behold here the lettare-box, where all in 
the house post their lettares. Put in your lettare, Mees, 
and it shall be post with the rest.” 

The maid, a simple Devonshire girl, devoted to her 
young mistress, and despite her simplicity possessing a 
fair share of shrewdness, was satisfied of the good faith 
of the concierge, and conformed to the very convenient 
custom of the house, dropping Miss Clair’s letter into 
the letter-box. She then returned to her mistress. 

It might have been ten minutes later when Lord Clair 
appeared, in apparently great perplexity, declaring that 
he had made a strange mistake, and deposited a letter 
in the box which he desired to withdraw. His lordship 
had been an inmate of the house for years, and possessed 
his suite of rooms by virtue of a genuine lease. He was 
liberal to the servants, was respected as an English 
“ milord,” and the concierge, upon whom the baron be- 
stowed a franc, made no difficulty in unlocking the let- 
ter-box and permitting him to withdraw a letter. 

Lord Clair rapidly ran the dozen letters in the box 
through his hands. He knew that the occupants of the 
house were all French, besides himself and those of his 
small party ; and when he came upon a letter addressed 
in a stiff, angular English hand, to an unknown name, 
but to the address of “ Little Charlewick, Devonshire, 
England,” he seized it and declared that it was the one 
of which he was in search, and bore it away unques- 
tioned. 

Thus it happened that Hellene’s letter to her lover 
never reached its destination. 

Hellene looked in vain for a reply or for the coming 
of Lord Ronald during the ensuing week. At the end 
of that period Lord Clair and his daughter, with the 


228 


LA TOUR DE ST. PIERRE. 


latter’s attendant, set out in a strong, easy traveling 
carriage, drawn by two stout horses, ostensibly upon a 
rambling tour through France. 

The carriage was equipped with guide-books, drawing- 
materials, hampers filled with every delicacy for im- 
promptu luncheons, the baron was smiling and gentle, 
the weather pleasant and the driver skilful, and Hel- 
lene’s spirits rose with every league of travel. 

They avoided the larger towns, stopping at night at 
secluded villages and hamlets, traversing by day lonely 
country roads shaded by tall rows of pollard willows, 
making acquaintance with quaint French inns, with odd 
Norman costumes, and with the simple, kindly peasan- 
try, with whom Hellene was wont to exchange pleasant 
greetings. They visited little ancient churches, ivied 
ruins, picturesque scenery, and Hellene’s portfolio be- 
gan to show evidence of her industry. 

It was some ten days after their departure from Paris, 
and late one pleasant afternoon, when they quitted the 
narrow country road and turned through an open gate- 
way into the avenue leading through the wood of St. 
Pierre to the lonely coast tower. 

This avenue, wider than the public highway, was 
rough, full of ruts and mud-holes into which the carriage 
frequently sank nearly to the hubs. The ancient trees 
formed themselves into a pointed arch high overhead, 
and scarcely a ray of sunlight penetrated to the road 
beneath. Hellene shivered with the sudden chill and 
gloom. 

“ Where are we going, father ?” she asked, in sur- 
prise and with some uneasiness. “Are we not in a pri- 
vate park ?” 

“ Yes, in the Bois de St. Pierre, belonging to the tower 
of St. Pierre,” replied the baron. “You have seen no 
building so ancient and picturesque as the tower of St. 


LA TOUR DE ST. PIERRE. 


229 


Pierre since we landed in France — scarcely perhaps in 
all your life. It is the residence of a French nobleman 
of the old regime , the Count de St. Pierre, who, by the 
way, is my intimate friend. I have visited here many 
years in succession during the hunting season. It’s a 
charming place, a little gloomy, but certainly grand also. 
You must make a sketch of the tower.” 

Hellene did not reply, but looked intently from the 
open window of the carriage, and drew closer about her 
the carriage rug and her shawl. The ground- was 
cdvered with a thick underbrush, through which she could 
see scurrying hares, and startled deer with antlered heads 
upraised in listening. The avenue ascended gradually 
from the moment of leaving the public road, and a half- 
mile drive through the dense wood brought them out 
suddenly upon the high plateau upon which the chateau 
was situated. 

The carriage drew up before the porch. Lord Clair 
alighted and assisted Hellene to the ground. The maid 
clambered out, and the coachman began to disencumber 
the interior of the vehicle of traveling-bags, boxes and 
parcels, just as an old woman in a high-crowned cap — 
the housekeeper evidently — flung open the front door 
and appeared on the steps, making a series of little 
courtesies, and bidding the travelers welcome in a high 
cracked voice and very provincial French. 

“ It looks as if we had been expected,” said Hellene, 
as a little man in a clean white blouse also emerged from 
the house, and after greeting the new arrivals, began to 
gather up the luggage. “ Are we to remain here over 
night, father?” 

“ Yes. It’s a delightful little surprise for you, Hellene,” 
said Lord Clair, hurriedly, avoiding her eyes. “ The 
truth is, I met the count in Paris and casually mentioned 
that we were traveling for your health, and he kindly 


230 


LA TOUR DE ST. PIERRE. 


placed his chateau at our dispQsal. The two servants 
were warned of our coming. The place is in entire 
readiness for us ; your room is in order, and Madame 
Binnet will show you up at once. Come.” 

He offered his arm ; Hellene took it, and the two 
ascended the wide stone steps, followed by the maid 
burdened with shawls and bags. There was no time 
for inquiry or remonstrance, had not Hellene been too 
bewildered to attempt either. 

“Miss Clair,” said the baron, halting with his daughter 
upon the broad platform at the top of the steps, “ this is 
Madame Binnet, the worthy housekeeper of the chateau. 
Madame Binnet, this young lady is my daughter, and 
your mistress during our stay here. You will lose 
nothing, my good woman, by making our stay agreeable 
and by paying particular attention to Miss Clair. You 
will now show the young lady to her room, while I speak 
with your son.” 

Madame Binnet, a stout person of medium stature, 
with very black eyes, a very black mustache, and a very 
sallow complexion, immediately led the way into the 
chateau, and Hellene followed her. The housekeeper 
conducted her new mistress through a grand old hall 
into a staircase hall, and so up-stairs. 

“ Monsieur ordered the tower-chambers to be prepared 
for Mademoiselle,” said the old woman, volubly, as she 
moved on through halls and corridors that seemed in- 
terminable, past long rows of closed doors and through 
an extensive picture gallery. “ Mademoiselle is romantic 
and loves fine views. From the tower she can see the 
waters, the boats, the fishers, the islands — a world by 
itself, and different from any she has ever known, it may 
be. Ah, here we are !” 

She came out upon a narrow passage lighted' by a 
slit-like window, From this passage a slender stair 


LA TOUR DE ST. PIERRE. 


231 


ascended to an upper room, and off this passage a single 
door opened. 

“ That is the door of Mademoiselle’s maid’s room,” 
said Madame Binnet, flinging open the door and re- 
vealing a barely-furnished apartment. “ The room of 
Mademoiselle is on the floor above, commanding the 
romantic view. We ascend.” 

Hellene passed on in advance, and came to a halt in 
the passage above. The housekeeper came up panting, 
and opened the single door that opened off this pas- 
sage. 

“ Your room, Mademoiselle,” she said ; “ behold !” 

Hellene entered the room. 

It was large and circular, containing the entire inner 
diameter of the old round tower. Six narrow windows 
gave admittance to the light, and permitted views of the 
world outside. These windows had been originally 
without glass ; later, mullioned sashes had been em- 
ployed to shut out wind and rain, but now, in these lux- 
urious modern days, a single sheet of plate-glass, shaped 
to fit the aperture, was employed, and this glass was ar- 
ranged to slide into the wall when required. 

The room was luxuriously furnished. The floor was 
covered with a thick carpet of velvet, of shaded yellow 
tints; the walls were hung with tapestry embroidered 
by the hands of fair chatelaines of St. Pierre which had 
mouldered to dust centuries ago. There were no cur- 
tains — none were needed — but there were sofas, easy- 
chairs, a small book-case, a grand armoire with an im- 
mense mirror framed as a door, and a marble bath sim- 
ilarly inclosed. The low white bed was wholly modern 
and wholly luxurious. 

Hellene swept a single glance about the room, and 
then went from window to window, looking out. Three 
of the windows commanded magnificent views of the 


232 


LA TOUR DE ST. PIERRE. 


channel. A fourth looked down' upon the cliffs and 
shore, and a fishing village three or four miles distant. 
A fifth looked down into the gloomy wood, and the 
sixth, upon the opposite side of the room, looked, over 
intervening roofs, down into the paved court-yard of 
the chateau. 

“This is delightful,” said Hellene, her eyes sparkling. 
“ Papa could not have pleased me better than to bring 
me here. His surprise is a most charming one.” 

Madame Binnet courtesied, as if 'personally compli- 
mented. 

“ I will leave you now with your maid, Mademoiselle,” 
she said. “ I am cook as well as housekeeper. Dinner 
will be served at six. I have a kitchen-maid and my som 
Alphonse, but there are no other servants in the house. 
If you will ring when you are dressed, Alphonse will 
come and show you the way to the drawing-room.” 

Excusing herself, the housekeeper departed. 

“You may go down also, Letty,” said Helldne, ad- 
, dressing her maid. “ You can overtake Madame Binnet 
and learn the way. And you must make the acquaintance 
of Alphonse, for I shall have a letter to post in the morn- 
ing.” 

The maid hurried out after Madame Binnet, and Hel- 
lene was left alone. 

For some time she looked intently from her windows, 
and was aroused at last from her contemplation of the 
sun-lit waters and white sails by the return of 
Letty. 

“ It’s four miles to the nearest village, Miss Hellene,” 
announced the maid, “and that is a mere hamlet. Let- 
ters are sent there from this chateau to be posted, and 
Alphonse is going down in a spring-cart in the morning 
on business, and will take any letters I may bring him 
in the morning. Alphonse knows a little English, but 


LA TOUR DE ST. PIERRE. 


233 


Madame Binnet and the kitchen-maid do not. It’s a 
lonely place here, Miss Hellene.” 

“ But a lovely one, Letty,” said her young mistress 
pleasantly. “ Our stay here is to be short. I wish we 
were to stay all summer. You may unpack my boxes — 
they were brought up directly after you went down. I 
have barely time to dress for dinner.” 

The maid proceeded with her duties' with expedi- 
tion. 

Presently Hellene dismissed her and locked her door. 
The bath was filled with water, ready for use. The 
young girl refreshed herself with a bath, nearly dressed 
herself, and summoned her maid. Miss Clair’s toilet 
was soon made, and she was ready to descend to the 
drawing-room. With her pale golden hair coiffered 
high upon her head, a dress of silky black grenadine 
setting off her pale fairness, and with a high Elizabethan 
fraise of plaited white muslin standing up and about 
her slender neck, Hellene’s appearance was not out of 
keeping with the grand old round tower in which she 
was domiciled. 

Letty had learned the way, and conducted her young 
mistress down to the drawing-room, upon the remotest 
side of the chateau. Here Hellene found her father, in 
dinner-dress, awaiting her. 

The drawing-room was a high, handsome, modern 
apartment of great length and well furnished, most of 
the furniture, however, being very old and massive. 
Lord Clair crossed the room and met his daughter near 
the entrance. 

“ Well, Hellene, how do you like it here ?” was his 
greeting. 

“ Very much indeed, sir. You are fond of surprises, 
father,” said Hellene, smiling, “but if all surprises were 


234 LA TOtTR DE ST. PIERRE^ 

to be as delightful as this, one could not object to them. 
How long are we to remain here?” 

“As long as you please, my dear. The Count de St. 
Pierre placed the chateau at my disposal for the sum- 
mer. If you would like to stay here by the sea, well and 
good. If you prefer to continue our aimless wander- 
ings, we will go on whenever you please.” 

Lord Clair looked at his daughter furtively but 
sharply, and was relieved at her reply. 

“ I would like to spend the summer here, father. Life 
must be a romance here. Since the count is so kind, let 
us remain awhile.” 

The baron assented with secret satisfaction. 

Dinner was announced, and his lordship conducted 
Hellene to the dining-room, where was served a tempt- 
ing little dinner, cooked and served with real French 
art. 

After dinner Hellene strolled with her father upon 
the terrace and out upon the cliff, remaining out long 
in the moonlight. 

Upon retiring to her tower-chamber, the young girl 
wrote a long letter to Lord Ronald Charlton and sealed 
and addressed it. Then she went to bed and to sleep. 

The next morning Letty re-inclosed Miss Clair’s letter- 
and re-addressed it, and carried it down to Alphonse,, 
then returning to dress her young mistress. 

The maid had scarcely disappeared when Alphonse,, 
obeying Lord Clair’s previous instructions, conveyed the 
letter to the baron, and received a handsome gratuity. 

And thus Hellene’s second letter to Lord Ronald fell’ 
into her father’s hands, and was destroyed by him. 

The week that followed was one full of pleasure to^ 
Hellene. She rambled among the rocks ; she walked 
over to the fishing village ; she sailed on the Chan- 
nel ; she frequented the wood, gathered flowers, made 


LA TOUR DE ST. PIERRE. 


235 


sketches, and recovered health and spirits. She waited 
day by day with hopes and fears for the coming of Lord 
Ronald Charlton, believing every morning that he would 
arrive before night-fall. 

But one day, at sunset, a post-chaise came lumbering 
up the wood-avenue with a guest. Hellene was on the 
terrace, and her eyes sparkled and her face glowed with 
expectation, and a strange trembling seized upon her. 
But it was not Lord Ronald Charlton who alighted, but 
instead, Lord Ronald’s uncle, the Earl of Charlewick, 
who came toward her smiling, and with outstretched 
hands. 

The earl, with his swarthy, Spanish face, glittering 
teeth, and gleaming eyes, was as repulsive in Hellene’s 
sight as if he had been a deadly cobra. She retreated 
before him, clasping her hands together, and greeting 
him only with a formal little bow. 

“ You do not look rejoiced to see me, Miss Clair,” said 
the earl, with a curl of his lip. “And yet I have traced 
you out with all the patience of an Indian and the devo- 
tion of a lover.” 

“ The devotion is quite wasted, my lord,” said Hel- 
lene, coldly. “ If you wish to see papa, he’s in the 
drawing-room. Ah, there he comes. He has seen you 
from the window.” 

• She glided away without apology as the baron came 
out, and hurried up to her own tower-room. She de- 
clined to come down to dinner, and Lord Clair came 
panting and puffing up to his daughter’s chamber, and 
demanded fiercely if she meant to insult him or to insult 
the earl. 

“ I don’t mean to insult any one,” replied Hellene, 
with spirit ; “ but the earl is Lord Ronald’s enemy, he 
drove Ronald from his house ; and I cannot be friendly 
with him.” 


23ft 


LA TOTJR DE ST. PIERRE. 


“ By Jove, Miss ! you will treat him civilly, or I’ll 
know the reason why. He’s my invited guest, and you 
will pay him proper respect. You are my daughter, and 
I demand from you a daughter’s obedience. You are in 
a land where a father has some rights over his unmar- 
ried daughter, you must understand.” 

Hellene grew pale as death. A whole flood of light 
poured in upon her soul. She trembled, and a quick 
alarm thrilled her. 

“Did you say that this man is your invited guest, 
father ?” she asked. 

“ I did. He is an old friend, and I will not give him 
up, even for you. I knew him as Lord Odo Charlton 
twenty years ago, and we have now renewed our old 
friendship. This chateau is mine for the summer, and 
I have asked him here for a week.” 

“ Knowing that he wants to marry me, and that I will 
never marry him ?” questioned Hellene. “ Father, I 
cannot meet this man.” 

“You can — you must,” said the baron, brutally, his 
fat face flushed with anger. “You are all dressed for 
dinner. Come with me, and mind that you treat the 
earl with politeness.” 

He took her hand and compelled her to accompany 
him down to the drawing-room. The Earl of Charle- 
wick was there in dinner dress, and came forward to 
greet his young involuntary hostess ; but Hellene, 
though courteous, was cold as an iceberg. She scarcely 
spoke at dinner or throughout the evening. 

Lord Charlewick remained some days at the chateau, 
and then departed, greatly to Hellene’s relief. The girl 
was growing pale and thin. She was perplexed at 
Ronald’s silence and his non-coming. Alphonse brought 
no letters addressed to Letty, and Hellene began to sus- 
pect that treachery was at work somewhere in regard 


LA TOUR DE ST. PIERRE. 


237 


to her letters, or that Ronald was ill or absent from 
England. 

Other days glided on. The baron grew morose and 
communed with his bottle more frequently. Hellene 
grew anxious and even impatient to leave the tower of 
St. Pierre for the aimless wanderings first planned. She 
had seen something of her father’s real nature — had de- 
tected the tiger’s claws under the sheath of velvet, 
and was secretly troubled and apprehensive. But Lord 
Clair was not to be persuaded to leave his pleasant 
Norman retreat, and Hellene began almost to feel her- 
self a prisoner. 

The Earl of Charlewick was absent only a few days 
returning in great spirits. He had employed his ab- 
sence in effecting the imprisonment of Ronald in the 
villa at Hackney, and he believed that now he would 
easily command success in his wooing, having safely 
disposed of his young and favored rival. 

Hellene was standing on the cliff, when he alighted 
on the terrace and approached her unseen. She wore a 
long black dress and a round hat trimmed with black, 
and her tall, slender figure was outlined against the sky 
as if cut in cameo. Her face was turned seaward, but 
the grace and spirit of her attitude struck her swarthy 
half-Spanish lover with a new admiration. 

“ She’s the handsomest woman I’ve seen since I came 
back to England,” said the earl to himself, gloatingly. 
“ It’s no disgrace to a man to go wild about her, and 
yet she’s as shy as a partridge. Til come upon her una- 
wares and make love to her. ' May as well get her used 
to the idea of marrying me, for marry me she shall. 
When I leave this chateau I take her with me as my 
bride !” 

He moved toward her stealthily. 


238 


MOKE HALF-CONFIDENCES. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

MORE HALF-CONFIDENCES. 

Edda Brend’s presence of mind by no means deserted 
her at the moment of her unexpected rencontre with 
Mr. Gascoyne Upham at the gate of the enclosure in 
Cavendish Square. It was one of her peculiarities that 
she was not easily to be surprised or taken unawares. 
And so, while Miss Powys’ gaze was fixed upon her 
from an open window of the opposite house, while Mr. 
Nizbit listened eagerly from within the enclosure, while 
more depended upon her prompt coolness than she 
could even guess, Edda proved herself equal to the emer- 
gency. She dropped the key of the gate into her pocket, 
laughed, and said, saucily : 

“ Your gallantry is only to be surpassed by your curi- 
osity, Mr. Upham. But since you have crossed the 
street entirely upon my account, please take me home.” 

She put out her hand as if to place it upon his arm. 
Upham hesitated, with a glance of uneasy inquisitive- 
ness in the direction of Mr. Nizbit. 

“ But — but,” said Upham, “ you have locked your 
friend in, Miss Brend ? You are evidently determined 
not to gratify my curiosity, which has increased tenfold. 
Who is your friend? Is he your uncle ?” 

“ No, he is not my uncle, 7 said Edda, coolly. “ Really, 
Mr. Upham, your questions are becoming intrusive. I 
am quite capable of managing my own affairs, if you’k 
excuse my saying so. And if you expect to pass any 
longer for a gentleman, or to win the slightest share of 


MOKE HALF-CONFIDENCES. 


239 


my consideration, you will just curb your manly in- 
quisitiveness, and let me alone.” 

This sharp little speech, rendered more effective by an 
angry red spark in the girl’s dusky eyes, warned Mr. 
Upham that he was treading upon dangerous ground. 
He was consumed with a feverish anxiety to question 
Mr. Nizbit, to probe the mystery surrounding Edda’s 
origin, to verify his newly-formed suspicions in regard 
to her connection with Miss Powys, but Edda had in- 
timidated him. What good would result from any dis- 
coveries he might make if Edda should scorn and repulse 
him? He loved the girl ; he meant to win her for his 
wife despite her rejection of him, and he decided reluct- 
antly that it would be bad policy to anger her now. 
Besides — and these reflections were of not less weight 
than those that had preceded— Edda would not leave 
him alone for an instant with Nizbit, and he could not 
question Nizbit before her. 

“ Better watch for their next meeting,” he thought. 
“ Better track him to his home, and visit him there 
secretly. I must throw Edda off her guard, and it will 
be easy to find out, even from her, the fellow’s address. 
Of course she’s no match for me in shrewdness and as- 
tuteness. I shall worm out her secret if I go to work 
aright. Just now it behooves me to win her confidence 
and respect.” 

Acting upon this idea, Mr. Upham made a brief apol- 
ogy to Edda for the interest he had taken in her affairs, 
urging his devotion to her, and his desire to spare her all 
annoyances, offered her his arm, and conveyed her across 
the street. 

“ I am going back again directly,” said Edda, as they 
entered the banker’s house together. “ I will go alone, 
Mr. Upham.” 


240 


MORE HALE-CONFIDENCES. 


With a little bow she flitted up the stairs, going to 
Miss Powys’ room. 

Mr. Upham departed slowly to his own chamber. 

Edda briefly stated the case to Miss Powys, and 
begged as a loan the sum still owing to Mr. Nizbit for 
the girl’s support. 

“I will repay it out of my earnings, madam,” said 
Edda, gravely. “ Mr. Nizbit intended to call at this 
house and ask for you, but if he receives this money he 
will go away and never trouble you again. You can trust 
his word, Miss Powys.” 

“ I will pay him the amount he claims, Edda,” said the 
lady, her pale cheeks flushing. “ Do not speak of repay- 
ing me. What was it Mr. Upham said to you ?” 

Edda narrated her conversation with the banker’s 
clerk. 

14 You’re a brave, noble girl,” said Miss Powys. “ I 
thank you, Edda, for meeting the emergency so promptly. 
Here is the money for Mr. Nizbit. Tell him, please, that 
it should have been paid before but for — no, my dear, 
give him the money as from yourself. He must never 
seek to see me. I am not the woman he thinks me, you 
may say to him, and his intrusion into this house will 
only bring trouble upon him.” 

Miss Powys opened her private desk and counted out 
the required sum of money in Bank of England notes. 
Edda thrust them into her pocket and returned to Mr. 
Nizbit. She paid him the money, and after a brief con- 
versation with him, gave him egress from the inclosure, 
and even walked with him some distance to a cab-stand, 
where she took leave of him, then returning home. 

About nine o’clock, when Edda was in the midst of 
packing her boxes, her dinner-dress laid aside for a little 
white dressing-jacket, her dusky hair clinging close to 
her head in damp little ringlets, her saucy little face 


MORE HALF-CONFIDENCES. 


241 


flushed, a knock was heard upon her door, and Miss 
Powys, radiant in Nile green silk and foam-like lace, 
came sweeping into the room. 

The lady’s imperious, blonde face clouded a little as 
she beheld Edda’s employment. Closing the door, she 
accepted the chair which the girl hastened to place at 
her disposal, and exclaimed : 

“Are you still determined to leave me, Miss Brend ?” 

“Yes, madam,” replied Edda, glancing at her open 
trunks. “ I am not ungrateful to you for your kindness 
to me — but I must go.” 

“ But think what it is to go among strangers, Edda — 
to be at the beck and call of a captious old woman, who 
has alienated from her every one of her blood in the 
world — whose descendants are not even on speaking 
terms with her.’* 

“ Did I not venture among strangers when I came here, 
Miss Powys ?” asked Edda, calmly. 

“ Yes — yes — but yet — ” 

“ I am not afraid even of old Mrs. Vavasour,” said 
Edda, as the lady’s voice faltered and broke down. “ I 
shall like the very solitude and dreariness of old Ben 
Storm and Storm Castle. I shall delight in the grim 
old mountain as I delighted in my native moors. When 
I tire of the Highlands and Mrs. Vavasour, I can find 
another home, I dare say ; but I am young, strong and 
patient ; I am willing to bear a great deal, and — who 
knows ? — old Mrs. Vavasour may really like me. A little 
love would go a great ways with me, for I never had any 
one to love me, you know.” 

There was a plaintiveness in the sweet young voice 
that went to Miss Powys’ heart, and there was a sudden 
quiver of the girl’s saucy mouth that was infinitely 
touching. The lady’s face grew paler, and a sudden 
wistfulness appeared in her eyes. 


242 


MORE HALF-CONFIDENCES. 


“ You have had a desolate sort pf life, Edda,” she said. 
“ I think I never realized how desolate until lately. It 
would have been better to have sent you to a boarding- 
school, but it seemed necessary to conceal your very ex- 
istence.” 

“ In the hope that I might die before attaining woman- 
hood,” said Edda, bitterly. “ But I have strong vitality, 
and I presume I shall live to grow old. Life has been 
full of strange experiences to me during the past three 
months. Mr. Nizbit disowned me as his niece, and sent 
me to you. You, madam, repudiated me utterly, but 
kindly gave me shelter and a home. I have learned of 
late that my father’s name was Henry Brend ; that he 
was a fashionable young man who pretended to be your 
lover, and who secretly married a woman who became 
my mother. Is Henry Brend dead, Miss Powys ?” 

“ Yes ; he’s dead.” 

“ Perhaps he left other children ?” suggested Edda. 

“ No ; you were your mother’s only child.” 

“ Will you tell me something of this Henry Brend — 
my father ?” asked Edda, gently. “ I am going away in 
the morning, and I may never have another chance to 
learn anything of my parentage. At least let me know 
if I may love his memory.” 

Miss Powys started as if stung, and said, in a passion- 
ate quivering voice, as if unable to maintain reserve 
longer : 

“ Edda, Henry Brend was a base, villainous fellow, who 
met with a terrible fate which he had fully merited. I 
do not know that he was really named Henry Brend. I 
have sometimes thought that that name was assumed. I 
think that he was of foreign birth ; he had the look of a 
Spaniard. And I have seen him when there was a demon 
of murder and hatred in his eyes. I — but why speak of 


MORE HALF-CONFIDENCES. 


243 


him*? He was a vile, miserable coward — a high-bred, 
smooth-voiced ruffian.” 

“ And he was my father ?” 

“Your father — yes.” 

Edda shuddered. 

“ What was my mother ?” she asked, in a low 
voice. 

“ She was a foolish, love -sick girl, a mere child, wilful, 
headstrong and disobedient,” said Miss Powys, still in 
that passionate voice. “ She loved the Spanish eyes, the 
swarthy cheeks of her adorer ; she believed in his roman- 
tic speeches. He loved her with a wild sort of passion 
as Spaniards often love, and the girl was fascinated and 
enthralled by him. She had no mother ; her father was 
absorbed in business cares and gave little thought to her ; 
her governess was a selfish, incapable woman — in short, 
the girl of sixteen made a secret marriage with her Span- 
ish lover. For a month she lived in a very dream of 
Paradise. Then came the awful awakening. She found 
that her husband was a villain. And then came the 
shock of his terrible fate.” 

“ Did she never acknowledge her marriage ?” 

“Never — never! How could she? Her father was 
proud and had high hopes for her future. She was 
proud, too. She believed that her husband’s real name 
might not be known to her. He had proved a low ad- 
venturer, a mere ruffian with the outward .polish of a 
gentleman. Acknowledge her marriage ? To whom 
was she married ? She never really knew. She loathed 
her folly and wickedness, she feared her father ; she 
dared not acknowledge her mad marriage.” 

“ Not even for the sake of her child ?” 

“ Not even for its sake, Edda. She had no love for 
her innocent offspring. She stole away with her faith- 
ful maid to a lonely dwelling in a far corner of England, 


244 MORE HALF-CONFIDENCES. 

and there her child was born. She left it there and re- 
turned to her splendid home, and no one dreamed of 
the mystery of her life — no one in all the world save her 
trustworthy serving-woman. But, Edda, let me tell 
you that the poor young mother’s conscience did not 
always sleep. She thought at night of her little aban- 
doned child, and wet her pillow with her tears. But as 
years went on she thought less in love of that child than 
in fear. What if the child were to find her out ? What 
was to become of the child ? What to be her destiny ? 
These were questions so terrible that she could find no 
answer to them.” 

“ She lives then still, my mother !” breathed Edda, 
softly. 

Miss Powys started. In her passionate outburst, she 
had said more than she had intended. 

“You need not fear to tell me,” said Edda. “I shall 
not presume upon your confidence nor press my inquiries 
further. But tell me, does my mother live?” 

There was a long silence. Then Miss Powys said, in 
a whisper : 

“ Yes, she lives. ” 

Edda’s dark face paled ; her dusky eyes glowed, but 
she moved no nearer to the lady and uttered no cry of 
surprise. She only said, gently : 

“ I have read in the Bible that the sins of the parents 
are visited upon the children. It has been so with me.” 

Miss Powys stifled a low sob. 

“ I have told you thus much, Edda,” she said presently, 
in a quavering voice, “because I know you to be gener- 
ous, and I want you to think more kindly of — of your 
unhappy mother. She sinned, but God alone knows 
how she has suffered. It is too late for that ill-advised 
marriage to be acknowledged. You must go through 
life fatherless and motherless, with a cloud upon your 


MORE HALF-CONFIDENCES. 


245 


origin ; but that will be a thousand-fold better than for 
•you to claim Henry Brend as your father. Since you came 
here, and I have learned how sunny and brave and 
unselfish you are, how good and sweet and pure is your 
entire nature, I have learned to love you, Edda — to love 
you with a passionate yearning my heart never knew 
before. I own all this to you that I may be the better 
able to persuade you to stay with me. Give over 
this project of going to Scotland. Stay with me. Be 
my secret comfort. Love me, if you can, Edda. No 
mother ever loved a daughter as I love you. I will 
cherish you in secret ; this flimsy pretence of companion- 
ship will be thrown aside, and I will adopt you as my 
sister, and will make a will constituting you the sole 
heiress of all my fortune.” 

She pleaded as one pleads for life. She held out her 
arms in a passionate tenderness, her face wet with tears. 
Edda was not less proud than Miss Powys had avowed 
herself, but something in the lady’s face and look 
thrilled her being, and with a swift, impulsive move- 
ment, the girl sprang forward and was clasped in Miss 
Powys’ embrace. 

Tears and kisses were rained upon her head with a 
passion that startled her; tender words were lavished 
upon her ; loving names greeted her. The fondest 
mother never breathed softer caresses upon her idolized 
little child than the proud banker’s daughter bestowed 
upon the girl whose head was pillowed on her bosom. 

“ I knew you would stay, my darling — my darling !” 
breathed Miss Powys at last. 

Edda gently disengaged herself and stood apart, sor- 
rowful and troubled. 

“No, I cannot stay,” she said. “You forget Mr. Up- 
ham. After what you have just said to me, I should 
find it impossible to remain. Believe me — I am not re- 


246 


MORE HALF-CONFIDENCES. 


sentful, not angry. All that is passed with me forever. 
I pity you ; I love you. If the time ever comes when 
you shall be free to have me live with you, and my com- 
ing will not cause you more of pain and trouble than of 
pleasure, I will come. But now I must go.” 

Miss Powys pleaded and protested, but Edda was im- 
movable. 

“ I am right,” said the girl. “ You will see later that 
I am right. Let me go, I entreat you.” 

“ But as a servant, a companion, while I am rich — I 
cannot. . To know that you are subject to the caprices 
and eccentricities of that old woman who has driven 
from her all her kindred — impossible !” 

“ You will be safer when I am gone,” said Edda. “ I 
must go, if but for a few months. When Mr. Upham 
shall have forgotten me and his suspicions, or when he 
shall have left this house, I may come back. But you 
cannot send him out of the house now without arousing 
Mr. Powys’ suspicions that something is wrong, or pro- 
voking Mr. Upham to do his worst. You see that I 
must go.” 

The little brunette beauty, with her strong will, had 
her own way. Miss Powys was obliged to yield to her. 

The two sat long together in Edda’s room that even- 
ing, and after Miss Powys at last withdrew, Edda, de- 
clining the aid of Mrs. Priggs, finished packing her 
boxes. 

The next morning, under guardianship of Miss Powys’ 
serving-woman, Edda set out for Scotland and Storm 
Castle. 


AT STORM CASTLE. 


247 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

AT STORM CASTLE. 

Ben Storm, or Mount Storm, in the Highlands of Inver- 
nesshire, rises to an altitude of over a thousand feet 
from base to summit. At its foot lies Loch Storm, a 
narrow lake shut in by trees. The sloping sides of the 
mountain are green and fertile till near the top, which 
is a bald and rugged rock whose only vegetation consists 
of a few black mountain firs and pines, which seem to 
spring out of the crevices of stone, or to fasten their 
bared roots to some bowlder. 

The very summit of Ben Storm is crowned with Ben 
Storm Castle, a long and straggling pile of rough gray 
stone. In the days of Scottish internecine wars, this 
grim old castle had been the stronghold of a mighty 
clan, whose chiefs had dwelt here in feudal state. But 
the days of clannish glory had declined ; the proud race 
of the haughty Highland chiefs had dwindled away, and 
the name of Mac Fingal belonged to the past. A 
descendant of the Mac Fingals — a woman who had mar- 
ried an Englishman — who was nearly a hundred years 
old, and who had all the pride and haughtiness of her 
ancestors, was now the occupant of the old castle and 
proprietress of the grand estate. 

This lady was that Mrs. Vavasour of whom we have 
spoken as the ancestress of Hellene Clair. She lived 
here alone, with a retinue of servants, keeping up some- 
thing of the ancient state for which the castle had been 
celebrated. It was to be her companion that Edda 
Brend was traveling northward. 


24:8 


AT STORM CASTLE. 


It was about the middle of a pleasant afternoon, when 
Edda and her attendant, Mrs. Priggs, after a leisurely 
journey up from London, neared their destination, and 
began their wearisome ascent of Mount Storm. They 
were seated in an open chaise drawn by two rough High- 
land horses. The road was steep, rough and tortuous, 
but from various points upon it they could see far above 
them, in the sunlight, boldly outlined against the blue- 
gray sky, the grim old Highland castle, in all its lonely 
grandeur and desolation. 

To Edda, from her very first glimpse of it, this wild 
mountain-eyrie was full of strange and delightful fas- 
cination. She was very silent as they climbed the steep 
and, in places, almost precipitous roads, unheeding alike 
the joltings of the chaise and the stifled groans and 
shrieks of Mrs. Priggs. 

“I wouldn’t live up here among the clouds — no, not 
for all the wealth of Mrs. Vavasour,” said the serving- 
woman, fervently ; “ and they do say she is that rich 
that with all her grand living she can’t use a tenth part 
of her income. You’ll never like it up here, Miss Edda. 
Be persuaded by me, and go back with me to London.” 

Edda shook her head with a smile. 

“ I shall like it up here ‘ among the clouds,’ ” she said. 
“ I am used to loneliness, you know.” 

Mrs. Priggs renewed her expostulations at various 
times throughout the ascent, but Edda was immovable. 

“ I am one big bruise,” lamented the woman, clinging 
to the carriage-straps with both hands. “ Oh, dear ! 
oh — ” 

With a last jerk and jolt, the chaise came out upon 
level ground, a bare spot of limited extent in front of 
the castle, and a minute later drew up in the wide, 
covered carriage porch with a flourish. 

An aged footman with powdered wig, plush knee- 


AT STORM CASTLE. 


249 


breeches, silver buckles, silk stockings and pumps, came 
airily down the steps to receive them. He opened the 
door of the chaise and conducted Edda and Mrs. Priggs 
into the castle, while a boy in livery climbed nimbly up 
to the box with the driver, and showed him the way 
around to the stables. 

Edda and her companion were ushered into a grand 
old hall, of the ancient baronial style, a hundred feet in 
length and sixty feet in width, with massive double doors 
at each end, flanked by immense windows, which per- 
fectly lighted every nook and corner of the grand apart- 
ment. Here, in olden times, the members of the clan of 
Mac Fingal had met to council or to banquet. The 
walls were hung with trophies of the chase and with im- 
plements of sport and of battle. The floor, of black 
polished oak, was bare at the sides, but covered down 
its length through the centre with wide Indian rugs. 
The furniture was of black oak, exquisitely polished, and 
the ceiling, of groined timbers, was black also. 

Mrs. Priggs had visited, with her beautiful mistress, 
at Storm Castle many times, aud she was not so im- 
pressed with the old-time grandeur of the place as was 
Edda. She hastened to make known to the aged servi- 
tor the name of Miss Brend, the fact that the young girl 
was a protege of Miss Powys, and also that Edda was 
no doubt expected by Mrs. Vavasour, to whom she 
begged the footman to proceed at once with Miss 
Brend’s card. 

“ Nay, nay,” said the servitor, shaking his powdered 
wig. “ I darena go to Mrs. Vavasour, at this moment, 
but I will send the card to her to let her know of the ar- 
rival. She gave orders that the young leddy was to be 
shown to her ain room on arrival, and my leddy will see 
her half an hour hence in the red drawing-room.” 

The footman touched a bell near at hand, and a trim 


250 


AT STORM CASTLE. 


housemaid came tripping into the hall. She took charge 
of the new-comers, and conducted them up-stairs to 
rooms which had been prepared for them. 

“ My lady will see you in half an hour, miss,” said the 
housemaid, politely. “ I will come to conduct you to 
her presence.” 

She withdrew, leaving Edda alone. A little later the 
young girl was joined by Mrs. Priggs, who hastened to 
unpack one of the boxes that had been brought up, and 
to assist at Etida’s toilet. 

“ My mistress charged me particularly, Miss Edda,” 
said the serving-woman, “ to make you look your pret- 
tiest before your meeting with Mrs. Vavasour, who is 
very peculiar, very eccentric, and who has a very high 
opinion of first impressions. I do hope, Miss Edda, that 
she will take a fancy to you, for you are better off here 
than in London, and ought not to have been allowed to 
remain over-night in Cavendish Square.” 

Mrs. Priggs sighed, and her brows contracted with a 
heavy anxiety. Edda sighed, too, but made no response 
in words. 

Mrs. Priggs proceeded to lay out upon the bed the 
various articles of the young girl’s costume, while Edda, 
with natural curiosity, bestowed some attention upon 
her apartment. 

It was a very long and very high room, with an im- 
mense fire-place set with quaint old tiles, on which were 
painted odd scenes illustrative of life in Holland a hun- 
dred years ago. The floor was of wood, dark as ebony, 
and exquisitely polished. Before the hearth, the great 
high-posted, heavy-canopied, bedstead the low, soft 
couches, the dressing-bureau, and under the centre- 
table were large and heavy rugs, edged with thick, short 
fringe. There were several windows draperied with silk 
and lace. Upon the wide and massive oaken mantel- 


AT STORM CASTLE. 


251 


piece were a dainty French clock and a pair of gilded 
girandoles bearing a forest of tall wax candles ; and 
upon the centre-table, surrounded by books, was a Ger- 
man student-lamp. Before one of the windows stood 
an easy-chair, with a tiger-skin rug and a dainty writing- 
table before it. The general aspect of the room was one 
of spaciousness, luxury and supreme comfort. 

By the time Edda’s comprehensive survey was made, 
Mrs. Priggs was ready to proceed with the young girl’s 
toilet, which was immediately entered upon. Before the 
half hour of grace had expired, Edda was ready to de- 
scend to the drawing-room. Mrs. Priggs retired to her 
own room, which was near at hand, and reappeared in a 
fresh cap with lavender ribbons, and with a fresh collar 
and cuffs, just as the housemaid returned to conduct 
Edda to the drawing-room. 

“ You are to come, too, Mrs. Priggs,” said the house- 
maid, primly. “ My leddy wishes to see you also.” 

Mrs. Priggs had expected the summons, and had in- 
tended, in any case, to accompany Edda into Mrs. Vasa- 
sour’s presence. She had in her pocket a letter from 
Miss Powys, introducing Edda to the lady of Storm 
Castle, and it was her intention to deliver this letter 
with her own hands. She followed Edda and her guide, 
therefore, with a grave and important air, as befitted her 
sense of responsibility. 

They passed down the grand stair-case, crossed the 
stair-case hall, and were ushered into the drawing-room. 
At the first glance Edda saw that it was unoccupied. It 
was an immense room, with a bow window at each end, 
and five wide windows at one side, all opening upon a 
marble terrace. In its stately proportions, with its ex- 
quisitely-painted walls and ceilings', its luxurious furni- 
ture, and its air of grandeur, this magnificent apart- 
ment would have befitted a queen’s palace. 


252 


AT STORM CASTLE. 


The click-click of dainty boot-heels, accompanied by 
the tapping sound of a walking-stick, came from the 
uncarpeted hall without ; then the door by which Edda 
had entered swung open again noiselessly, and the lady 
of Storm Castle came into the room. 

Edda started back involuntarily. 

She knew that Mrs. Vavasour was nearly a hundred 
years old. She expected to find her decrepit, probably 
helpless, certainly in her second childhood. She beheld 
instead the realization of her childish ideal of Cinder- 
ella’s fairy godmother. 

A little, slender, withered person, somewhat bent 
under the weight of years, with a slight hump between 
her high shoulders, with a quick, bird-like movement of 
her head, a nose like an eagle’s beak, a pointed chin pro- 
jecting far beyond her face, a sallow complexion with 
singularly few wrinkles upon it, a pair of shaggy white 
brows under which burned a pair of restless, fiery black 
eyes, a low forehead, above which was a heavy mass of 
thick white hair, a quick, suspicious glance, a sardonic 
expression about the thin, shriveled lips, a proud, 
haughty, disdainful demeanor — this was Mrs. Vavasour. 

Her witch-like appearance was heightened by her 
dress. She wore a long robe of scarlet velvet, trimmed 
with ermine ; her little trim boots were of scarlet vel- 
vet also, and a circular-shaped cloak of ermine fur was 
gathered about her. A high lace ruff encircled her yel- 
low neck. Diamonds glittered from her ears and throat ; 
her little withered hands were burdened with superb 
jewels, and the gold head of her walking-stick was 
studded with shining gems. 

If Edda was surprised at Mrs. Vavasour’s appearance, 
that lady was not less surprised at Edda’s. The slender, 
supple figure, the small, dark, vivacious face, the little 
head covered over thickly with short jetty rings of hair, 


AT STORM CASTLE. 


253 


the bright black eyes, .so cool and keen in their glances, 
yet so full of underlying sadness and possibilities of 
•tenderness, the proud, red mouth, the youthful grace- 
all these commanded the aged lady’s admiration as well 
as awakened her surprise. 

“ I am Mrs. Vavasour,” said the little lady of Storm 
Castle, with the concentrated pride of all the haughty 
race of Mac Fingals, and as if declaring herself queen of 
Scotland. “And you are the young lady whom Miss 
Powys was so good as to send to me at my request to 
be my companion — you are Miss Brend ?” 

Edda bowed, and Mrs. Vavasour requested her to be 
seated. The old lady then turned her attention to 
Priggs, who stood stiffly at a little distance with a letter 
in her hands. 

“How do you do, Priggs?” said Mrs. Vavasour, con- 
descendingly. “ You have taken very good care of your 
charge, I should say. How did you leave Miss Powys ?” 

“ Very well indeed, ma’am — my lady, I should say,” 
replied Mrs. Priggs, so confused by the little old lady’s 
stateliness as to feel and seem awkward. “ Miss Powys 
sent a letter to you, which she charged me to give you 
with my own hands, ma’am, and here it is.” 

There was a small silver card-tray lying carelessly 
upon a table near. Mrs. Priggs espied it, laid her letter 
upon it, and presented it to Mrs. Vavasour. 

“ You may sit down, Priggs,” said the centenarian, 
graciously. “ Miss Brend, if you will excuse me, I will 
just glance at Miss Powys’ letter. 

Of course Edda made no objections, and Mrs. Vava- 
sour sat down and perused the letter. It was one which 
the banker’s daughter would have hesitated to intrust to 
the post, and yet there was no avowal in it of any mys- 
tery connected with Edda, and no declaration of her 
.absolute identity. The letter stated that Miss Brend 


254 


AT STORM CASTLE. 


was the orphan daughter of' an early friend of Miss 
Powys ; that Miss Powys would have been glad to keep 
the girl with her, but for Edda’s sense of independence ; 
that the girl was a lady by birth and breeding ; that she 
was very dear to Miss Powys, who intended to provide 
for her amply in the future. The writer begged Mrs. 
Vavasour to treat Edda with all possible consideration 
and kindness, and in the event of not wanting her to 
send her back to Miss Powys under suitable escort. The 
letter breathed a spirit of great tenderness and yearning 
toward the girl, a fact which surprised the old lady, who 
looked upon Miss Powys as cold and heartless. 

“ Humph !” muttered the centenarian, when she had 
concluded her perusal of the letter. “ So Agnace Powys 
has a heart, after all, and this girl has touched it. She 
must be a strange sort of girl.” 

Her words were inaudible to Edda and to Mrs. 
Priggs, and she added in a louder tone, addressing the 
latter : 

“ I will answer the letter, Priggs, in writing. You may 
remain, if you choose, through my interview with Miss 
Brend.” 

The old lady then turned abruptly toward Edda, and 
regarded her very keenly, as if studying her countenance, 
and through it her character. 

“ Humph !” said she, in a croaking sort of voice, her 
projecting chin and beak-like nose almost meeting as she 
spoke. “ I wrote a letter to my young friend, Miss Powys, 
asking her to find me a companion — not a meek Uriah 
Heep sort of creature, who would go around sighing 
and deprecating, as if begging to be permitted to exist — 
not a sniveling, tearful kind of woman, who thinks Prov- 
idence has injured her in making her poor — not a prying 
kind of creature, who will peep into my desk, read my 
letters, and listen at my door — and not a scheming per- 


AT STORM CASTLE. 


255 


son. who will fawn upon me and pretend to love me, and 
count upon getting her name into my will. I have had 
all these varieties of companion, and I want something dif- 
ferent. You look different from any companion I have 
had. What induces you to leave London arid Miss Powys, 
and bury yourself up here among the lonely High- 
lands ?” 

She leaned her long, curved chin upon the head of her 
walking-stick, and looked at Edda with increasing sharp- 
ness. She was evidently suspicious of the motives of 
one so young and beautiful in seeking employment in her 
house, notwithstanding Miss Powys’ earnest recommen- 
dation of Edda. 

“ The inducement was money,” replied the girl, quietly. 
“I wanted to find a situation, and asked Miss Powys 
to secure me one. She received your letter opportunely, 
Mrs. Vavasour, and offered to recommend me to you. I 
vvas born and bred on a wild Yorkshire moor, and shall 
not mind the loneliness of Storm Castle.” 

“ Humph !” said the centenarian. “Young people are 
not apt to like loneliness. You look as if you were of a 
merry and social disoosition. What do you expect to 
make out of me ?” 

“ I expect a good salary, ma’am, and a home.*’ 

“Humph!” muttered the old lady. “Do you know, 
Miss Brend, that I live here all alone the year around, 
with twenty servants to wait upon me, and without a 
soul to keep me company save when, in summer, the 
humor takes me to invite a few guests ? All alone, mind 
you, with the minister to dine with me once a week, with 
the family physician or neighbor now and then to visit 
me for the day, but with no other relief to what must 
prove to you a horrible monotony. I am touchy, sus- 
picious, ill-tempered. Now you could easily have got a 
situation near or in London, and I can’t conceive what 


256 


AT STORM CASTLE. 


made you so eager to come up here. I am apt to sus- 
pect people of having designs upon me — Heaven knows 
I have generally good grounds for my suspicions — and 
although Miss Powys praises you very highly, she may 
be mistaken in you. There are people living who hope 
to inherit my fortune at my death. Have you any con- 
nection with them ?” 

“ None whatever, ma’am.” 

“And you had no ulterior object in coming here? 
Nothing beyond serving me and getting a good salary ?” 

“ I had no other object in coming here, Mrs. Vavasour,” 
said Edda, a little impatiently. “ What other object 
could I have ? How can I know the persons who hope 
to inherit your money? As to your ill-temper, I was 
warned of that, but I sha’n’t mind it. If it does you 
good to scold me, you can indulge in the exercise as much 
as you please. You are old, and I suppose age is priv- 
ileged to be cross. If you want me to stay, I will stay. 
If you want me to go, I will go. If you keep me now 
and afterwards get tired of me, it will be easy to send 
me away. The matter, you see, is exceedingly simple 
And it really does not make a bit of difference to me 
which way you decide,” added Edda, quietly. “If you 
don’t want me, I can easily get another situation — and 
I’d just as soon go somewhere else.'’ 

“Good Lord !” groaned Mrs. Priggs, under her breath. 
“Miss Edda’s done it now. The old lady will hardly let 
,us stay till morning. Mrs. Vavasour finds a match now 
for her own hot temper and haughty spirit, I’m think- 
ing ; but why couldn’t Miss Edda be meek ? Dear, 
dear, she’s born to trouble, sure enough.” 

Mrs. Vavasour observed Mrs. Priggs’ look of keen 
distress, and smiled sardonically. Then her glance re- 
turned to Edda, and she said, with a shade less of 
haughtiness, and a shade more of kindness ; 


AT STORM CASTLE. 


257 


“Well, well, it’s a comfort that you don’t show a 
truckling spirit, Miss Brend. I hate your fawning wo- 
men. I believe I’ll give you a trial. As you say, if I 
don’t like you it will be easy to send you away. What 
can you do?" 

“ Whatever you want me to do, ma’am. I want to 
earn my money.’’ 

“ Humph ! Well, that is something new. Wants to 
earn her money ! I never heard that expression before,’’ 
and a gleam of humor appeared in the old lady’s rest- 
less black eyes. “ I’ll tell you what I shall require. I 
have a maid, an elderly woman, who is really and truly 
devoted to me. She has lived with me as my maid for 
forty years, and she’s only fifty-seven now. I have a 
skillful seamstress too ; so what I want of you is com- 
panionship, in the fullest sense of the word. I am often 
lonely. I want you to sing to me, to read to me, to play 
on the piano and organ for me, to talk to me, to drive 
with me, to sit with me — to be with me through the 
day and evening, and make yourself agreeable to me. 
If you know when to speak and when to be silent, I 
shall be pleased. I hate a chatterbox. I had one last 
year, and she talked me nearly to death.’’ 

“ I will do my best to suit you, madam,” said Edda. 
“ If I don’t suit you, or if I don’t like it here, I can 
leave.” 

“ Let me hear you read.” 

Edda took up a book from the table and opened it at 
random, reading a page aloud. The centenarian was 
pleased to approve the distinct enunciation and perfect 
elocution'. 

“ A good voice, and well trained. Now let me hear 
you sing.” 

There was a grand piano in the room. Edda seated 
herself before it and played a difficult operatic air, then 


258 


AT STOEM CASTLE. 


rendered with rare skill and spirit a bravura, and con- 
cluded with a tender Scottish ballad, which she sang 
with a sweetness and sympathy that made it inexpress- 
ibly charming. 

When she arose and returned to her chair, she was 
surprised at the softness that almost transfigured for a 
moment Mrs. Vavasour’s witch-like face, and at the ten- 
der melting of her beady, hard, black eyes. 

“ That is the first music I have heard in years,” said 
the centenarian, drawing a long breath, “ and I love 
music. I don’t call the crashing of piano keys after a 
set fashion and in a set time music. But the exquisite 
harmonies of the instrument which awaken kindred 
harmonies in my spirit— which touch, elevate and 
arouse me out of myself — these I call music, whether 
they are evoked from the piano, the organ, or the grove 
of tall mountain pines below my window. I shall want 
you to play and sing to me often. It is settled that you 
are to stay. The remainder of your accomplishments 
we will leave for time to discover.” 

Edda bowed gravely. 

“ Miss Powys tells me that you come of a good fam- 
ily, and that you are an orphan,” continued Mrs. Vava- 
sour. “ She speaks with affection of you, and it will not 
be necessary, therefore, for me to inquire into your his- 
tory or your past life. You are to remain with me. 
Priggs, you may be excused. Go down to the house- 
keeper’s room and tell her to make you comfortable. 

Mrs. Priggs courtesied and retired. 

She had scarcely vanished when a solemn-faced, 
brawny Scotsman, of herculean proportions, attired in a 
black dress suit, and wearing a big white wig, appeared 
at the door of the drawing-room, and ceremoniously an- 
nounced that dinner waited. 

Mrs. Vavasour arose, bidding Edda attend her, and 


AT STORM CASTLE. 


259 


slowly made her way to the dining-room, her boot-heels 
keeping time with the clicking sound of her cane. 

The dining-hall of Storm Castle was, in size and 
grandeur of appearance, in keeping with the entrance 
hall and drawing-room. It was a noble apartment, with 
painted walls and ceilings, paneled pictures, and im- 
mense windows looking out upon a large and exquisite 
flower-garden, the soil for which had all been brought 
up from the fertile lower slopes of the mountain. 

The dinner was elegantly served, and was faultless in 
every respect. A large square block of ice served as the 
central ornament, and its slow rain dripped over upon a 
bed of cool white Victoria Regias beneath. The win- 
dows were ajar, and the pure mountain air stole into the 
room. The feast and its surroundings were worthy the 
most-luxurious sybarite. Soft-stepping servants waited 
at the table, supplying wants before the wants were felt 
by the diners. Mrs. Vavasour talked with brilliancy 
and with a caustic wit which Edda enjoyed. Life at 
Storm Castle was not the utterly barren thing the girl 
had expected, when intellect and sense were aliked thus 
charmed. 

After dinner, Edda returned with Mrs. Vavasour to 
the drawing-room.* She talked with the old lady for an 
hour or two, and then, being excused because of the 
fatigues of her journey, retired to her own room. Mrs. 
Priggs soon joined her here. 

“ It’s all settled that you are to stay, Miss Edda, 
thanks be to Heaven, ” said the serving-woman, fer- 
vently. “ With Mr. Upham in the house, you can never 
o-o back to the house in Cavendish Square, unles you 

O 

want to ruin Miss Agnace. I never liked Mr. Upham, 
never ; and now he’s proved himself a regular serpent.” 

“Yes, I can never go back,” said Edda, sighing. 


260 


AT STORM CASTLE. 


“ But I shall like it here, I know. When do you intend 
to return to London ?” 

“ I shall leave Storm Castle on the morning of the 
day after to-morrow, Miss Edda. Miss Agnace said 
that I was to stay here one entire day, to make sure that 
you were contented to remain. Poor Miss Agnace ! It 
almost broke her heart to have you earning your own 
living like this ; but what could she do ? She’s in a sore 
strait, poor lamb !” 

Mrs. Priggs wiped a tear from her grim face, and 
walked to a farther corner of the roQm, thus termina- 
ting the conversation. 

Edda slept very peacefully in her tall, carved, high- 
posted bedstead that night, and the next morning she 
was astir at daylight, and had taken an extensive ram- 
ble over the mountain before breakfast time. She came 
in to the morning meal and to Mrs. Vavasour as bright 
and sparkling as dew in sunshine. 

After breakfast, the old lady said to her : 

“ Miss Brend, I would like you to get acquainted with 
the castle and its surroundings before you begin the 
routine of daily life. This forenoon my housekeeper 
shall show you over the rooms, and this afternoon you 
will drive with me down the mountain.” 

The statement was equivalent to a command. 

After breakfast the housekeeper, a spare, angular, 
severe-faced woman, with gray hair, and dressed in black 
silk, appeared, and was introduced to Edda. She took 
the young girl in charge, and proceeded to convoy her 
through the state chambers of the castle, recounting 
particulars concerning each with the monotonous tone 
and accuracy of statement characteristic of well-trained 
professional guides. 

The lesser drawing-room, the parlors, the magnificent 
library, the beautiful breakfast-room, Mrs. Vavasour’s 


AT STORM CASTLE. 261 

boudoir and study, were all duly exhibited. The guest 
chambers were displayed, and the housekeeper re- 
counted the names of the notabilities who had slept in 
them. And, last of all, they proceeded to the picture- 
gallery, a long and lofty room upon the upper floor, 
lighted by a gigantic glazed dome in the roof. 

The floor was of polished dark woods, as were also 
Walls and ceiling. The walls were literally covered with 
pictures, many of them centuries old. Here the house- 
keeper was in her glory. She began at one end of the 
room, and gave the names of the originals of the pic- 
tures, who were for the most part Highland chiefs in 
costume, and rehearsed the glories of the ancient race of 
Mac Fingal with an ardor that showed how zealously 
she was attached to the traditions of her clan. 

“It was a sad day when my lady, the last of the Mac 
Fingals, married the soft-voiced Southron,” said Mrs. 
Macray. If she had but married a Highlander ! All 
has gone wrong since that marriage, and yet it was a. 
happy one.” 

“ And Mrs. Vavasour is the last of ner race ?” said 
Edda. “Who will inherit Storm Castle at her death ?” 

The housekeeper looked at the girl sharply. 

“I suppose,” replied Mrs. Macray, “that my leddy 
desired me to show you the castle so that you could ask 
questions of me, instead of annoying her with them. She 
knows human nature, and that curiosity is a natural fail- 
ing. Miss Brend, let me warn you never to question my 
leddy, or to show any interest in the question of who is 
to succeed her. She can leave Storm Castle to whomso- 
ever she pleases — the more’s the pity !” 

Edda did not venture any more inquiries. They passed 
from picture to picture, those upon one entire side of the 
room being family portraits. At last they came upon one 
whose face was turned to the wall. 


262 


AT STORM CASTLE. 


“ What picture is this ?” asked Edda. 

The old housekeeper’s features worked a little, as 
she answered, in a voice she vainly tried to render 
calm : 

“ That, Miss Brend, is the portrait of Mrs. Vavasour's 
only living male descendant.” 

“ But why is it turned to the wall ?” 

“Because — I may as well tell you, Miss, so that you 
will never venture to allude to the subject in Mrs. Vava- 
sour’s hearing. My leddy had children, and grand- 
children, fine, robust men, and beautiful women, but she 
has outlived them all. And of all her descendants but 
two are living. One of these is a young woman ; the 
other a young man. They are my leddy’s great-great- 
grandchildren. The young woman is the Honorable 
Miss Hellene Clair, the daughter of Lord Clair and of 
‘the rich Miss Vavasour’ who married him against my 
leddy’s will. There is no portrait of Miss Hellene dan- 
in the castle. My leddy would never see her. My leddy 
does not like the Clair blood, and Miss Hellene will never 
be my leddy’s heiress.” 

“ But the young man, Mrs. Macray ?” 

The housekeeper’s face clouded, and her features 
worked anew, as she said : 

“ He was the noblest, the gayest, the most beautiful of 
boys. He grew up to be the noblest of men, with my 
leddy’s own hot temper and high spirit, my leddy’s own 
wilfulness and hatred of restraint, but with a thousand 
good qualities to overbalance his faults. He was gen- 
erous as the sun, brave, bright, clever, and he scorned a 
lie. Every servant in the castle loved him, and it was a 
dark day a year ago when he and my leddy had a fierce, 
bitter quarrel, and she turned him off with her curse. 
The minister has tried in vain to soften myleddy’s heart 
to the young master, but her heart is harder to the lad 


AT STORM CASTLE. 


263 


than a stone. She has made her will leaving him a shil- 
ling — he who was all his life her petted, pampered heir 
her darling, and her idol.” 

“ He must have been very bad to forfeit her love.” 

“ He was not. My leddy had set her heart on marry- 
ing him to a young leddy who lives some thirty miles 
distant from Storm Castle, a great heiress, and of a 
proud old Highland family. Her name is Miss Mar- 
garet Cameron, of Glen Cameron, and she was dead in 
love with the young master, and is still. My leddy took 
a great fancy to her, and Miss Gretta — that’s what they 
call her — has set my leddy against her own flesh and 
blood, since the young master refused to marry her. 
They say that our proud young lord — for he was a lord, 
in all but the empty title — is now earning his bread in 
London by writing for the newspapers, and that he lives 
in a garret and starves on a crust. The minister was up 
to London and found out Master Dugald, and when he 
came home he came to my leddy and told her a story 
that would move a stone to tears, but it only made her 
the more bitter and scornful. The minister told me 
himself and begged me to use my influence in reconcil- 
ing these two proud spirits, for Mr. Dugald refused to 
make any overture of friendship to my leddy. It’s not 
a month since the minister came home, and my leddy 
has been bitterer than ashes since.” 

‘‘What is the name of your young master, Mrs. Mac- 
ray ?” 

“Dugald Mac Fingal Vavasour.” 

“ Please let me see his picture, Mrs. Macray,” said the 
young girl, pleadingly. “ Only one look.” 

The housekeeper hesitated, glancing over her shoulder 
toward the door. 

“Just a look won’t matter,” muttered Mrs. Macray. 
“ And I’m dying myself for a sight of his dear face. — But 


264 


NEW LIGHT UPON THE SITUATION. 


do not tell. My leddy might be angry. Here it is. 
Isn’t it a bonny face?” 

She turned the picture on its wire cord dexterously, 
and displayed the portrait of the deposed heir. Edda 
uttered a low cry and sank into the nearest seat, her face 
pale as ashes. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

NEW LIGHT UPON THE SITUATION. 

Hellene Clair, standing upon the high cliff overlook- 
ing the channel, upon the lonely Norman coast, was un- 
conscious of Lord Charlewick’s approach until he stood 
at her side. She started then and retreated a few steps, 
her fair face expressing all her dislike to him and all her 
sense of annoyance at his unwelcome presence. 

“You will find my father in the chateau, my lord,” 
she said, coldly. 

The earl’s swarthy Spanish face glowed with a sinister 
pleasure, and a red light gleamed in his gloomy eyes, as 
he responded : 

“ I have but just arrived from England, and is this all 
the welcome you have for me, Hellene ? I do not care to 
see your father when I can see his daughter, and I have 
something to say to you.” 

“Anything that the Earl of Charlewick can say can 
have no possible interest for me,” said Hellene, frigidly, 
making a movement of retreat. 

“You think so? You are not like young ladies in 
general if you do not love to hear of your conquests, 
Hellene. I admired you from the first moment I beheld 
you, but now I love you, and here by the sea, in the 


NEW LIGHT UPON THE SITUATION. 


265 


midst of all this romantic scenery, I ask you to look 
more kindly upon me. You are so fair, so pure, so 
dainty, that I long to make you mine. Take pity upon 
your victim. Won’t you marry me, Hellene ?” 

“ No, my lord, I will not,” replied the girl, steadily. 

“A prompt answer and a plain one,” said the earl, 
with an upleasant laugh. “ My fair Hellene has a will 
of her own, I see. Your pretty wilfulness is very becom- 
ing to you, Hellene, as no doubt you know. Perhaps I 
do not make my offer in the most approved style. Let 
me recount to you the advantages to be derived by you 
from a union with me. I am an English peer of the 
realm, the representative of one of the most ancient 
families in the kingdom, an earl with a princely income 
and inherited . estates that would not be an unfitting 
appanage to a crown. I am still young, not ill-looking, 
and I would be a very pattern of husbands. Think of 
being mistress of Charlewick-le-Grand, Hellene, of 
grandeurs and pleasures which I can give you. Think 
how I should adore you.” 

“Your adoration is not more to be desired than your 
hatred,” said Hellene, calmly. “You have my answer 
my lord.” 

The earl scowled darkly. 

“I will not take a negative answer,” he exclaimed. 

“I have no other for you. Once for all, my lord, you 
must understand that I mean what I say. I would not 
marry you to save my life,” said Hellene, spiritedly. 

“ I suppose you are saving yourself for that beggar 
of a nephew of mine ?” sneered the earl. 

“ Yes, I am,” said Hellene. “ He may be a beggar, 
as you so delicately call him, but at least,” and her blue 
eyes shone like stars, “ he has no blank of twenty years 
in his life ; he has no dark mystery of years to con- 
ceal 1” 


266 


NEW LIGHT UPON THE SITUATION. 


The earl’s dark face grew livid. 

“ This to me !” he exclaimed. “ Be careful, Hellene 
Clair. Be warned. You may go too far. Let me tell 
you that I have just come from England and from Lord 
Ronald Charlton. That young gentleman informed 
me that he had received two letters from you, offering 
to cling to him, but in the face of my rivalry and your 
father’s opposition to his marriage with you, he had be- 
come convinced that it would be useless to further urge 
his suit with you, and he offered to withdraw from the 
rivalry with me if I would give him five thousand 
pounds.” 

“ That is false !” flashed Hellene. 

The earl smiled sneeringly. 

“ You think so ? I gave him the money. He took it 
and has already left England. His creditors are search- 
ing for him everywhere, but he has given them the slip 
completely. See, here is a hand-bill which some anxious 
soul has got out in the hope of finding him. Here is 
what the newspapers say about his unaccountable dis- 
appearance. I assure you, his disappearance creates 
quite an excitement among those who do not know the 
facts of the case.” 

The earl produced one of the hand-bills offering a re- 
ward for information concerning the whereabouts of 
Lord Ronald Charlton, which had been issued by Hart- 
son, the lawyer. Hellene read it with a paling face. 

Then the earl displayed to her notice several English 
newspapers, with paragraphs , carefully marked around 
with ink, relating to Lord Ronald’s mysterious absence 
and silence, and indulging in speculations as to his 
whereabouts. One journal thought that “ mysterious 
disappearances” ran in the Charlewick family, and re- 
called the twenty years mysterious absence of the pres- 
ent earl, and spoke of the erratic tendencies of young 


NEW LIGHT UPON THE SITUATION. 267 

men of the present day, and instancing Roger Charles 
Tichborne, the Earl of Aberdeen, and Lord Odo Charl- 
ton, as noticeable instances in point. Another journal 
suggested that Lord Ronald, being disappointed in his 
expectations of inheriting the earldom of Charlewick, 
and unable to bear adversity with fortitude, had com- 
mitted suicide. Another journal suggested that to this 
disappointment must be added disappointment in a love 
affair, as the match that had been projected under dif- 
ferent auspices between his lordship and Miss Hellene 
Clair had been given up. And still another journal de- 
clared that there was good authority for stating that 
Lord Ronald Charlton had secretly left England for 
Australia, where he intended to begin the world anew. 

All these, and several other notices, Hellene read in a 
dead silence and with averted face. The earl watched 
her, and would have given much to have seen her coun- 
tenance while she read, or heard her voice. It was 
scarcely like a young girl to receive such news in such 
silence, he thought, and experienced a pang of uneasi- 
ness and misgiving. 

• “ She’ll drop down in a faint presently,” he said. 

But Hellene did not faint. She read the last line of 
the last paragraph, and then she turned around with a 
face like snow, and said, in a voice he scarcely recog- 
nized : 

“ Where is he ?” 

“ Who ? Where is Ronald ?” 

“ Yes. Where is Ronald ?” 

“ How do I know ? I gave him the sum he asked, and 
he went away. I incline to think, with the writer in one 
of those journals, that he has gone to Australia.” 

Hellene’s lip curled, and the look in her blue star-like 
eyes was terrible as she demanded : 

“I ask you again, where is he? Your plausible story 


268 


NEW LIGHT UPON THE SITUATION. 


might answer with any one but me ; but I know Ronald. 
Cain, where is he ?” 

“ You call me Cain ? You accuse me of his mur- 
der ?” 

“ You are his murderer in heart ; in fact, also, if you 
are not too great a coward. You know where he is. You 
have hidden him away somewhere. Oh, why have I not 
suspected the real cause of his silence,?” 

“ Verily, a deserted woman can forgive,” sneered the 
earl. “ Or is it so hard for a woman to acknowledge 
herself deserted ? I have told you the truth, Hel- 
lene — ” 

The girl made a gesture commanding his silence. 

“ I shall see papa at once,’ ’ she said. “ He and I must 
start for London to-night.” 

She moved away as she spoke, hurrying swiftly toward 
the chateau. 

Lord Charlewick followed her with equal swiftness. 

Hellene mounted the steps, ran along the hall, and sped 
to the smoking-room. 

The baron was here, his fat person upon one chair, his 
feet upon another, a cigar in his mouth, and a bland and # 
satisfied expression upon his ruddy, puffy countenance. 
He started as Hellene came bursting in upon him like a 
young embodied tornado. 

“ What in thunder — ” he began, then seeing the earl 
appear behind his daughter, he lowered his feet, threw 
aside his cigar, and arose* exclaiming : 

“ I see, I see. You have returned, Charlewick, and — 
and—” 

“ Oh, father !” interrupted Hellene, “ Ronald has dis- 
appeared. We must go to London at once, you and I. 
Even if you refuse to allow me to marry Ronald, you 
will seek to discover him, the grandson of one who was 
so good to me. I will be ready in fifteen minutes — ” 


NEW LIGHT UPON THE SITUATION. 


269 


“What does this mean, Charlewick ?” demanded the 
baron, helplessly. “ What have you told Hellene ?” 

“ Simply that Ronald has cut his creditors and de- 
parted from England,” replied the earl, coolly. “ Miss 
Clair takes his defection seriously. She wishes to pur- 
sue him and return him by force to his former alle- 
giance.” 

“ Hellene !” cried Lord Clair. “I am shocked. This 
conduct is most unmaidenly. Excuse her, my lord. 
Remember that she has no mother.” 

“ Read this hand-bill and these papers, father,” said 
Hellene, calmly. “ Please read them — now.” 

The baron complied with her request so urged, and a 
look of relief and of satisfaction appeared upon his rubi- 
cund visage as he comprehended that Lord Ronald 
Charlton was actually the hero of a “ mysterious disap- 
pearance.” 

“ The young fellow shows his sense in stealing off 
secretly, and letting his friends get up such a sensation 
out of the matter. I’m glad he’s gone. I hope he won’t 
be coming back. Hellene, show your sense and let the 
beggar go.” 

“ Father, he has gone nowhere voluntarily. He would 
not leave England without seeing me. He loves me, 
and he knows that I love him. Some harm has hap- 
pened to him. The earl has shut him up, or killed him, 
or had him carried away in some ship, or — ” 

“ By Jove, a splendid idea that !” interrupted the 
earl. “ Only I should never have thought of it.” 

“ Hellene, you insult my guest,” said the baron. “ It 
is as one of these papers has. said : he has killed himself 
through disappointed love.” 

“ Impossible. He knows I love him,” said Hellene, 
firmly. 

“ But I intercepted your letters to him ? ” said Lord 


270 


NEW LIGHT UPON THE SITUATION. 


Clair, deeming it best to destroy any' hopes his daughter 
might cherish. “ So, of course, hearing what the earl 
had to say to him, not knowing where you were, and not 
receiving any letter from you, he concluded that you 
had thought better of the matter and decided not to 
marry him.” 

Hellene fixed a glance of awful reproach upon her 
father, but she did not upbraid him in words. 

“ Will you not take me to England immediately ?” 
she implored. “ Oh, father, I must get to London. We 
must search for him.” 

“I see no reason for altering my plans for the sum- 
mer,” replied the baron, doggedly. “ I have decided to 
stay at this chateau, and we shall stay.” 

Pleadings and expostulation failed to move him, and 
Hellene finally said : 

“ The chaise is still here in which Lord Charlewick 
came. Father, I shall go away in it. I shall go toLdndon 
and find Mr. Hartson. I know that harm has happened 
to Ronald. I must help them look for him.” 

“You mean to defy me, eh? Hellene, I brought you 
here for a purpose,” said her father, angrily, “ and you 
shall remain here until that purpose is accomplished. I 
have given my promise that you shall marry Lord 
Charlewick, and we are in a country where the parent’s 
voice decides his daughter’s marriage. You will never 
leave France except as the earl’s wife. Ronald Charlton 
has deserted you. The earl stands ready to marry you, 
and your marriage with him shall take place within a 
month ; I swear it !” 

The baron glared at his daughter in a fury that ap- 
palled her. 

She went out quietly without a word and ascended to 
her own tower-chamber. A ring at her bell summoned 
her maid. Hellene told what had occurred briefly, and 


NEW ARRIVALS. 


271 


the two proceeded to gather together a few effects, ana 
Hellene then put on her hat and sacque. 

“Come, Letty,” she said^ “We must hasten !” 

She hurried to the door. It was locked from without, 
and the key was gone. She was a prisoner ! 


’ CHAPTER XXV. 

NEW ARRIVALS. 

Hellene recoiled from the locked door in a panic of 
consternation. A prisoner — in that lonely Norman cha- 
teau — in that old feudal tower — a prey to a thousand 
anxieties in regard to her lover — no wonder she was af- 
frighted and appalled. And her fears were not lessened 
by the fact that her jailer was her own father. 

“ Oh, Letty !” she cried in her distress, “what can we 
do ? We are locked in !” 

The maid assured herself of the fact beyond all possi- 
bility of a doubt by personal examination. She shook 
the latch, she pulled at the door, she peered through the 
key-hole, and was forced at last to acknowledge that 
they were indisputably prisoners. But she did not 
know what was to be done. She sat down upon a chair, 
and looked helplessly at her young mistress. 

“ No one will hurt us, Miss Hellene,” she said, in a 
faltering voice. “ It is your own father who has locked 
us in.” 

Hellene did not answer. It was her own father who 
had thus treated her — true ; but had he ever conducted 
himself toward her as fathers conduct themselves toward 
children whom they love ? Had he not broken her 


272 


NEW ARRIVALS. 


mother’s heart ? Had he not lived a dissolute, wicked 
life? Had he ever shown affection for her, his only 
child ? Had he not been glad to rid himself of her 
during her early years ? Had he not broken his promise 
to give her in marriage to Lord Ronald Charlton ? Was 
he not determined to marry her to the earl against her 
will at any cost? Was he not selfish, unprincipled, 
unscrupulous ? Would the thought of his daughter’^ 
happiness influence him to have pity or consideration for 
her ? Did not his very relationship toward her invest 
him with an authority which none in his household dare 
gainsay ? Ah, Hellene wished that her jailer was not 
her father ! 

In those few moments Hellene arrived at a clearer, 
understanding of her father’s character than ever before. 
All his selfishness and unscrupulousness were revealed to 
her in their hideousness and monstrosity. All that she 
had ever heard against him, all that she remambered of 
her mother’s sufferings at his hands, recurred to her with 
cruel force. 

“ I suppose my father will let me out when the chaise 
goes,” she said, trying to speak calmly. “He is afraid 
that I will try to get away in it.” 

“Then he’ll let you out directly, Miss Hellene, for 
there goes the chaise now !” cried Letty, as the rum- 
bling sound of carriage-wheels upon the paved court-yard 
ascended faintly to their ears. 

Hellene ran to the window overlooking the court-yard. 
She was in time to catch a glimpse of the chaise as it 
disappeared around a corner of the quadrangle. 

But though the chaise was gone, no one came to re- 
lease the prisoners. 

As the usual dinner-hour approached, Hellene prepared 
for her father’s coming to release her. But the hour 
passed, and it was after dark when the key at last grated 


NEW ARRIVALS. 


273 


in the lock and the baron appeared on the threshold, 
with a tray of food in his hands. He deposited the tray 
on a table near the door, and cresting his head forward 
peered into the great circular chamber. 

The only light in the room streamed in palely at the 
narrow windows. The moon was shining on the cliffs 
and waters, and its pale gleams, entering the tower- 
chamber, rested upon Hellene, who sat in their ghostly 
glow. Most of the room was in shadow. Letty’s figure 
could barely be distinguished as she crouched on the 
floor near her young mistress. 

“All in the dark, eh?” said the baron, panting and 
puffing from his exertions in climbing the stair. “Well, 
what may be your frame of mind now, Miss Clair ?” 

“ When are you going to release me, sir ?” asked Hel- 
lene. 

, “ When you submit yourself to my rightful authority 
— not before !” declared the baron, with a fierce intona- 
tion that showed that he meant what he said. 

“ Father,” said Hellene, firmly, “ I will never marry 
Lord Charlewick — not though death be the penalty for 
my refusal. Oh, father, think what you are doing ? 
Would you alienate from you your only child ? Would 
you force me to marry a man whom I fear and detest, 
and almost hate ?” 

“Your romantic notions about love are all folly, Hel- 
lene,” said the baron, roughly. “ What is wanted is 
money, great estates, and liberty to do as you will, and 
all these the earl can give you. It is just like a woman 
to conceive unreasoning prejudices against people. The 
earl is handsome, clever and rich. What more do you 
want ?” 

“ Is he honorable, father? What do you know of his 
past life ? — of his mysterious absence for twenty years ?” 

“ Bother his past life and his twenty years absence !” 


274 


NEW ARRIVALS. 


cried the baron, impatiently. “If you mean to pry into 
everybody’s past you’ll be more dreaded than a pestil- 
ence. The earl says he’s been in South America. 
Whether he has or not does not matter to you or me, 
and it’s not delicate of you, Hellene, to seek to pry into 
his affairs.” 

“ But how do you know he has not a wife living ?” 
asked Hellene, desperately. 

Lord Clair uttered an oath. 

“ Or that he has not stained his hands with crime ?” 
persisted the girl. 

“Grant me patience!” muttered the baron. “Hel- 
lene, you are enough to drive one mad with your absurd 
speculations. Lord Charlewick would feel flattered at 
your estimate of him. Do you suppose he would com- 
mit bigamy ? Do you suppose that an earl’s heir would 
stoop to crime ? Bah ! why should I attempt to reasQn 
with a woman ? Let there be no more beating about the 
bush. You must and shall marry the earl, and the 
sooner you reconcile yourself to your fate the better it 
will be for you.” 

“And you will not interest yourself in the fate of 
Ronald ?” 

“ I will not. Curse him ! I’m glad he’s gone ! He 
will never trouble you or me again. You would do well 
to think of yourself, Miss Clair, instead of that runaway 
beggar. Do you comprehend ? You are a prisoner in 
this tower, and you will remain here a prisoner until you 
solemnly promise to marry the earl. I have informed 
Madame Binnet and Alphonse of your insubordination. 
Such a thing was never heard of in a French family ; 
but the truth is, the old Earl of Charlewick pampered 
you until you have grown to believe that your will must 
be law in everything. Madame Binnet and Alphonse 
will carry out my wishes to the letter. Madame Binnet 


NEW ARRIVALS. . 275 

will attend upon you every morning. I myself will 
bring you all your meals, which will consist of prison- 
fare, let me inform you. When you tire of it and long 
for a change, vou can obtain it by submission to my 
authority.” 

“ I suppose you can imprison me, but you cannot im- 
prison Letty. She is not your daughter,” said Hellene, 
with an indescribable bitterness. “She must not be de- 
prived of air and exercise because you choose to lock 
me up.” 

“ Might makes right,” said Lord Clair, coolly. “ I 
shall lock her up herewith you. She can’t make any 
complaint of me until she’s released, she’ll find, and be- 
fore she is released I may be able to make terms with 
her. I have nothing more to say, Hellene, except that I 
shall visit you twice a day with your tray of food, and 
you need not remain a prisoner an hour unless you 
choose.” 

He withdrew himself abruptly and closed and locked 
the door. 

Lettie arose and groped about for matches, and lighted 
a pair of wax candles, and brought the tray of food to 
her young mistress. There was a bottle of vin ordinaire , 
a loaf of black bread, and a dish of water-cresses — noth- 
ing more ; a sumptuous dinner certainly for one of the 
richest heiresses in England. 

«• A peasant’s dinner,” said Letty. 

“ If peasants can eat it, we can,” said Hellene. “ And 
we must eat, Letty. So long as we retain our health, 
we can defy our enemies, but with weakness of body 
may come weakness of will. Eat and let us then try to 
think of some way of escape.” 

Lettv obeyed, and young mistress and maid' drank the 
sour wine and ate the black bread in silence. After the 


276 


NEW ARRIVALS. 


meal, Hellene, with the energy ofan active mind, began 
to cast about for some possibility of escape. 

To escape by the door was seen to be impossible. 
The door was of ancient oak, several inches thick, and 
clamped with iron, having been built in those far-off feu- 
dal days when the coast-tower had been employed as a 
stronghold of defence. 

The windows were scarcely more available. One 
overlooked the dark wood, another the court-yard of the 
chateau, and the others looked down a sheer descent of 
three hundred feet to the waters of the Channel. 

“Escape seems impossible,” said Hellene at last. “ Of 
course we cannot lower ourselves into the sea, nor into 
the court-yard, and the lower windows of the chateau 
look out upon the wood, and we cannot escape upon 
that side of the tower. I see that it was a preconcerted 
plan between my father and the earl, our coming to this 
lonely chateau, and in the selection of my room on the 
very day of our coming my father looked forward to 
imprisoning me in it. Letty, we cannot escape. We 
can only wait and trust in God. They may keep me 
here till I grow gray, and I will not yield to my ene- 
mies.” 

“ I would rather be here with you, Miss Hellene, than 
anywhere else without you,” said Letty, affectionately, 
adding, shrewdly : 

“Your captivity will be almost as unpleasant for Lord 
Clair as for yourself, Miss Hellene. He loves gayety, 
and it will be hard for him to be buried alive here month 
after month.” 

“ I am disappointed in my father,” sighed Hellene. “ I 
had grown to trust him. I feel strangely desolate, Letty, 
and yet I Would be happy, even here in prison, if I could 
only know that Lord Ronald is safe.” 

Letty proceeded to barricade the door, that it might 


NEW ARRIVALS. 


277 


not be opened from without in the night. Then, by her 
young mistress’ orders, she extinguished the lights. 
Hellene undressed herself in the moonlight and went to 
bed. Letty also disrobed and lay down upon one of the 
wide, low couches, and, covered with a blanket, soon fell 
asleep. Then Hellene arose, and knelt by her bed and 
prayed for a long time. She opened one of her windows 
and looked down upon the moonlit sea, and watched the 
gleam of one or two white sails in the distance, and 
looked up at the yellow stars, and prayed anew until a 
soft peace and trustfulness fell upon her tortured soul, 
and then she returned to her bed and also slept. 

She had need of all her trust in God during the weary 
days that followed. 

The programnasat mapped out by her father was scru- 
pulously followed by him. Every morning Madame 
Binnet came up to the tower-chamber, her huge mus- 
tache bristling, her sallow face full of stern condemna- 
tion of the refractory daughter, and brought changes of 
linen, and inquired into mademoiselle’s state of health, 
and put the room in order, while Lord Clair waited on 
the stair outside. 

And twice every day the baron entered his daughter’s 
chamber with a tray of food. For the first day oy two 
he was full of sneers and threatenings, but as day after 
day passed, and Hellene remained inflexible, he grew 
morose and silent, and his glances became fierce and full 
of angry aversion. That she should dare set up her will 
against his seemed to him incredible. He had thought 
of women as soft, delicate, dainty creatures, to be di- 
rected and kept in due subjection by father or husband ; 
but here was his daughter with a will of her own, with 
an immovable constancy to her young lover, and with a 
fixed determination not to marry the man he had chosen 
to be her husband. He was incapable of loving even his 


273 


NEW ARRIVALS. 


own child, but he now felt growing u'p within him a 
hatred for her. 

Her food scarcely varied for days. Black bread, sour 
wine and water-cresses, made up the staple of her re- 
pasts. She grew thin and pale, but she offered no com- 
plaints, and Letty was equally silent. It was not for the 
maid to complain of what the mistress bore so patiently. 

During all these days, Lord Charlewick remained at 
the chateau, and his presence was a great pleasure to 
the baron. They had delicious little dinners with charm- 
ing French dishes and rare wines. They sat on the ter- 
race ; they smoked ; they spent hours in the billiard- 
room, and played late at cards, and managed to extract 
considerable enjoyment out of life while they waited for 
their slender girl-prisoner to yield her will to theirs. 

“I am losing all note of time,” said the swarthy earl, 
one day, as he lounged on the terrace smoking his pipe. 
“ How long has Hellene been shut up ? One week, two 
weeks, or is it three ? By Jove, the girl has spirit ! How 
she holds out !” 

“She must be hungry,” said the baron. “She hardly 
touches her black bread now. She’ll give in in a day or 
two, and I shall live to hear her thank me for my firm- 
ness in this matter. What wretched little romantic fools 
girls are, to be sure ! Here she is dead in love with 
Ronald Charlton — and, by the way, I wonder where he 
really is. Do you think he’s really gone to Australia ?” 

“ I dare say. He spoke of going out to the anti- 
podes.” 

“ Perhaps he’s gone out to South America, to hunt out 
the mystery of your long absence,” suggested the baron, 
facetiously. 

The earl’s face grew black as a thundercloud. He 
did not like allusions to his twenty years absence, and 
the baron had long since discovered the fact. 


NEW ARRIVALS. 


279 


“ Wherever he is, he won’t come here,” muttered Lord 
Charlewick, “ although I could almost wish he would. 
There’s a cursed monotony about existence in this cha- 
teau that would make one welcome the sight of a blind 
fiddler, or a Savoyard organ-grinder with his monkey.” 

“ The monotony won’t last much longer, Charlewick. 
Hellene’s spirit is about broken. You ought to thank 
me for breaking her spirit for you — save you the trouble, 
you know. Well, upon my word, our monotony is about 
to be broken. He/e is an arrival. Perhaps your amia- 
ble nephew is turning up at last.” 

The earl started, turning pale. He sprang up, just as 
a post-chaise emerged from the wood and came to a 
halt under the trees. A man sprang out of the vehicle, 
paid the driver, and the chaise then returned on its 
course, vanishing in the shadow of the wood, while the 
man came toward the terrace at a swinging pace. 

This man was a dark-browed person of middle age, 
with a singularly unpleasant countenance and carriage. 
He had a sneaking look, closely-cropped hair, and a 
smooth, shaven face. 

“It’s a fellow I knew at Charlewick-le Grand when I 
was a boy,” said the earl, regarding the intruder as if 
the sight of him were most unwelcome. “ He is the son 
of my old nurse, in fact, and was always greatly attached 
to me. His name is Peter Diggs. He begged me to 
take him into my employment, and I gave him my 
address, so that he could readily find me whenever he 
chose to come to me. And so here he is.” 

The man came up as the earl concluded his somewhat 
prolix explanation, and stood with uncovered head 
before Lord Charlewick. 

“Well, my fine fellow,” said the earl, with an anxious 
look in his gloomy eyes, and a tone of attempted jocu- 
larity, “so you have concluded to come over to France 


280 


NEW ARRIVALS. 


and be my valet ? Glad to see you. Expected you be- 
fore, in good truth. You were so anxious to enter my 
employment that I did not engage a valet in Paris as I 
was tempted to do. How did you leave your family ? 
All well ?” 

“ All well, my lord,” replied Peter Diggs, respectfully. 
“I should have come sooner, but I was detained. I’ve 
had trouble of my own, my lord, and a sudden streak of 
bad luck, and I have come to stay, if so be you want 
me.” 

The earl and the valet exchanged glances of deep 
significance unnoticed by the fat baron. Then the earl 
said : 

“Go into the chateau and ask Madame Binnet to show 
you the way to my room, and you can busy yourself 
there until I come. Madame Binnet or Alphonse — one 
of the two — speaks a little English.” 

Diggs bowed low and hastened into the chateau. 

“That fellow has a villainous look,” said Lord Clair, 
looking after the valet. 

“ He’s better than he looks,” returned the earl, care- 
lessly ; “if he is not I’ll turn him adrift in short time. 
I’m glad to see a new face, if it be only a dog’s.” 

“It’s time for my second visit to Hellene,” remarked 
the baron ; “ and I’ll go and see her. I may find her tired 
of the monotony also and ready to give in. I’ll soon return 
with good news, perhaps.” 

He sauntered away with a shambling gait, his 
obese figure not obeying his will with desirable readi- 
ness. 

The earl watched him enter the chateau, and then 
flung away his cigar and moved leisurely toward the dwel- 
ling, entered, and went up to his own room. 

He found Peter Diggs there, eager and impatient. 

“ Well ?” demanded the earl, turning the key in his lock. 


NEW ARRIVALS. 


281 


“ What brought you here ? What’s your streak of bad 
luck ?” 

“ Lord Ronald has escaped !” 

“ The devil ! Escaped ! How.?” 

Peter Diggs hastened to narrate the particulars of our 
hero’s escape from the villa at Hackney. 

“ He don’t know that old Pietro, his jailer, is Peter 
Diggs of Little Charlewick,” the valet concluded, glibly. 
- ‘ I was prudent — ” 

“ Yes, cursed prudent to let him escape !” cried ^he 
earl, furiously. “ Why didn’t you write me about his 
escape, and stay in London to entrap him again ?” 

“ Because he is not in London, my lord. I disguised 
myself and set myself to watch him. He started straight 
from London for Paris, and there he is now.” 

“ What ! In France ? He is on our track, then ?” 

“ I think not, my lord. He may have heard that Lord 
Clair was seen in Paris, but if he knew that the baron 
had come to Normandy he would follow, instead of 
mousing about Paris.” 

“ True. And so he is at large and in France. This is 
serious. I expected to keep him shut up until after my 
marriage to Miss Clair. Is your brother still in his em- 
ploy ?” 

“ John went to Paris with him, my lord, and Lord 
Ronald then sent him back on an errand to England. 
I don’t think Lord Ronald suspects that his* valet is in 
your pay, and John will soon be back to watch and spy 
upon his master. 

“ You must go back to Paris in disguise and watch 
Lord Ronald. Find some way to entrap him. Get him 
upon a false track. Knock him on the head — do any- 
thing to him, Diggs, so that he be removed from my 
path. Why did you dismiss your post-chaise ?” 


282 


NEW ARRIVALS. 


“ It is gone down to the fishing-village four miles be- 
low, my lord.” 

“ Go after it. Go back in it. Hasten to Paris. Do 
my work well, and you shall be a rich man.” 

After some further conversation, during which some 
definite plan for the betrayal of Lord Ronald into the 
hands of his enemies was agreed upon, Peter Diggs de- 
scended to the kitchen of the chateau and obtained a 
dinner. About nightfall, he sat out on foot for the fish- 
ing-village down the coast. 

That evening was bright with moonlight and starlight. 
The court-yard of the chateau was inclosed on three 
sides, was paved, but contained a grass plot a,nd a 
fountain in the centre. Here the earl and the baron sat 
and smoked, glancing occasionally up at the light that 
gleamed from a window in Hellene’s room, high up in 
the tower. 

“ So you’ve sent off that valet of yours, Charlewick ?” 
said the baron. “ I’m glad of that. He’s an ill-looking 
dog. What’s that ?” 

The sound of tramping feet around the corner of the 
quadrangle was suddenly heard. Then Alphonse in his 
blue blouse came into view, flushed and radiant. 

“ Monsieur said to-day to me that the chateau was 
dull,” said Alphonse, “ and that he would be glad to see 
a dancing-bear — even a pig with six legs — or any show. 
And I have found for monsieur two wandering Tyrolese 
singers, to make music for him. Behold !” 

Two picturesque male figures entered the court-yard 
at the last word of Alphonse. Both were dressed in 
Tyrolese garb, with tall conical hats, with feathers in 
them, short velvet breeches, and loose hanging cloaks, 
and both carried musical instruments done up in green 
baize, and slung over-their shoulders. 

One of these singers was tall, and grand of stature 


NEW ARRIVALS. 


283 


and development, and he wore his cloak as a Roman 
senator might have worn his toga. His clear dark skin 
and pointed black mustache gave him a striking appear- 
ance. The other Tyrolean was shorter, slenderer, more 
boyish, but was dark as an Italian. 

“Let them sing,” said Lord Charlewick. “I’m not 
particular about music, and if their singing is execrable, 
I shall never know it.” 

Alphonse gave the word of command. 

The younger Tyrolean gave a sudden bugle-call as a 
prelude, and began one of the wild bugle-songs pecu- 
liar to the Alps. It was rendered with spirit, and was 
grand and soul-stirring. 

When he had concluded, the earl and the baron lazily 
pelted him with sous. He picked them up off the 
stones, bowing gracefully. 

Then the elder Tyrolean sang a wild Alpine moun- 
tain-song, full of wonderful trills, like the cool, dewy 
notes of some mountain robin or American mocking- 
bird. 

And as those clear notes rose with glad sweetness up- 
on the moonlit air, Hellene sprang from her chair in her 
high tower-chamber, and ran toward her window over- 
looking the court-yard, crying out in a quick frenzy : 

“ His voice ! I’ve heard him sing that Tyrolese song 
a thousand times ! Oh, Letty, it is he— it is Lord 
Ronald !” 


284 


A SINGULAR COMPLICATION. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

A SINGULAR COMPLICATION. 

It was indeed a “ bonny face,” that of the deposed 
heir of Storm Castle. The .old housekeeper might well 
display it with fond pride and admiration. Not any 
portrait of Highland chieftain in all that grand picture- 
gallery was half so striking as this. Not any Mac Fin- 
gal of them all had more a look of conscious pride and 
power than he who had been cast forth from the home 
of his ancestors poor and disinherited. 

A noble brow, with a cloud of fair hair tossed care- 
lessly back from it ; a pair of grand blue eyes, fearless 
and unflinching ; a frank, firm, smiling mouth ; a square- 
cut chin ; a strong, handsome, yet boyish face ; all these 
made up a countenance remarkable and distinguished 
in the highest degree, and one once seen not to be for- 
gotten. 

Edda’s agitation at sight of it seemed inexplicable. 
The old housekeeper looked from the portrait to Mrs. 
Vavasour’s young companion and back again in won- 
dering amazement. 

“ Did you ever see Mr. Dugald, Miss Brend ?” she 
asked, suspiciously. 

“ Yes, I have seen him.” 

The housekeeper’s face kindled with a sudden warm 
glow. Her heart warmed to this young girl who had 
seen her idol. 

“You knew him, Miss Brend ? When ?” 

“ It was last autumn, in the hunting-season,” said 


A SINGULAR COMPLICATION. 


285 


Edda, hesitatingly. “ It was on the Yorkshire moors. 
He was up there hunting and sketching.” 

“To be sure,” said Mrs. Macray, approvingly. “Like 
all gentlemen, he is fond of hunting. And as to his 
pictures, there are portfolios of them locked away in the 
library — and he was hunting and making pictures, too, 
my bonny boy ?” 

“ He was making his pictures to sell,” said Edda. 
“ He told me he was poor.” 

“ Poor, and he the rightful heir of old Ben Storm ! 
And yet he said right,” groaned Mrs. Macray. “ He is 
poor, thanks to that nasty cat, Miss Gretta Cameron, the 
sly minx, who, I do believe, is trying to win Ben Storm 
for herself, either with or without Master Dugald. I 
don’t wonder he would rather be poor than marry her, 
and how my leddy can be so infatuated with her passes 
my comprehension.” 

“ He called himself Dugald Mack.” 

“ The minister told me so when he came back from 
England last month. He says the young master has 
given up the name of Vavasour with all the rest of his 
rights. It was all along of the madam screeching out 
at him like some witch-cat as he turned to go away : 
‘ Go off, and never let me see or hear of you again ! Don’t 
drag my honorable name of Vavasour into your low life, 
and do not let the world know that the last of the Mac 
Fingals prefers to be a hireling to an Englishman in- 
stead of lord of his own halls!’ And so when he went 
he left his name behind him. Oh, Miss Brend, my leddy 
is as cruel as death, and remorseless as the grave.” 

The old housekeeper wiped away her tears, and looked 
lovingly upon the portrait. 

She did not see Edda’s glowing face and passionate 
eyes fixed in a worshipping gaze upon that same pic- 
ture. Had she turned suddenly, she would have en- 


286 


A SINGULAR COMPLICATION. 


countered a revelation. For this was Edda’s secret. 
She had a lover, as Gascoyne Upham had jealously sus- 
pected, and as Miss Powys had* feared. And this lover 
was the disinheritedheir of old Mrs. Vavasour, though 
until the moment-of looking upon this portrait Edda 
had believed him to be poor, and possibly lowly born. 

During the preceding autumn, in the course of one 
of her rambles over the dreary Yorkshire moor surround- 
ing her home of Racket Hall, she had encountered a 
young huntsman, who had addressed her, making cer- 
tain inquiries of her concerning the topography of the 
neighborhood. To Edda, accustomed to the sniveling 
tones and affected invalidism of Mr. Nizbit, to the 
rough speech of the peasant population of Moor End, 
this young gentleman seemed a being of another world. 
He was frank, chivalrous and gentle. He treated the 
unprotected moor-girl with the courtesy he would have 
shown a queen surrounded by her court. 

It is probable that the young girl, with her short, 
crisp, black locks, her small dark face, and her vivacious 
beauty, made a deep impression upon him, for it hap- 
pened that he encountered her frequently thereafter in 
her rambles on the moor, and their conversation took a 
wide range of subjects. They talked of books, of 
music, of the great problems of life. He found her rest- 
less and eager to enter the world, but he never learned 
aught of her save that she was Edda Brend, the reputed 
niece of Mr. Nizbit of Racket Hall. 

He prolonged his stay upon the moors to nearly three 
months, instead of going away in a fortnight, as he had 
originally intended. And one lowering day in Novem- 
ber, when the two were out alone upon the moor, he 
told Edda that he loved her; that he was poor, and 
would not bind her to promise to marTy him ; but 
that he should come back to woo her as soon as he should 


A SINGULAR COMPLICATION. 


287 


have gained by his own industry a sufficient income to 
enable him to marry. And Edda shyly confessed that 
she loved him, and would be happier as his wife than as 
a crowned and honored queen of a mighty realm. 

Yet even then he would not bind her to a promise. 
Pure and noble and chivalric, he told her that she knew, 
as yet, nothing of the world, and he should give her time 
to study her own heart. He promised to return again 
in the next autumn, and then to visit Mr. Nizbit, and 
openly declare himself Edda’s lover. 

The little autumn idyl there ended. He went back 
to London and hard work. He never wrote to Edda, 
but she knew that he loved her and was working for her. 
Mrs. Nizbit was dead, and there was no one to whom 
the girl could confide her hopes and dreams. 

From the time of her lover’s departure, Edda became 
more restless and eager to leave Racket Hall, and take 
her place in the world. But from the hour of their 
parting she had never seen him, nor heard from him, 
and never heard even the remotest allusion to his exist- 
ence until now. 

The discovery that he belonged to the proud race of 
Vavasour, that he was of a high family and the rightful 
heir of Ben Storm, brought more of pain than pleasure to 
Edda’s soul. She would have married a poor man if she 
loved him, but would Dugald Vavasour desire in good 
truth to marry her who had no claim to honorable par- 
entage, and whose very origin must remain a secret for- 
ever ? 

The girl aroused herself from her trance-like reverie 
as Mrs. Macracy slowly reversed the picture. 

“ I should like to go to London,” said the housekeeper, 
“to see my dear boy. There’s no one loves him as I 
love him. I was his nurse, Miss Brend, and the minister 
says that Master Dugald asked particularly about me 


288 


A SINGULAR COMPLICATION. 


when he saw him. And the minister says that, though 
Master Dugald has all the Mac Fingal pride, that he 
has hopes of inducing him to come back and see Mrs. 
Vavasour, and try to make friends with her. He may 
come back at any time- — think of that.” 

Edda arose from her seat. 

“ I must go to my room, Mrs. Macray,” she said. “ It 
is near the lunch hour, and I dare not be late. Some 
time I hope you will tell me all about Mr. Vavasour. 
And if you hear that he is expected here, I beg you to 
tell me.” 

The housekeeper looked at the girl keenly and assented. 
She conducted Edda back to the girl’s room, and then 
returned toward her own private apartment, where Mrs. 
Priggs awaited her. 

‘•I shouldn’t wonder,” thought Mrs. Macray, as she 
threaded the long passages, “ if Miss Brend were dead in 
love with Master Dugald. She certainly showed a strange 
agitation when 1 spoke of him. As if he, the last of the 
Mac Fingals, and the rightful heir of Ben Storm and all 
the wealth of the English Vavasours, would look upon a 
hireling to marry her. He may have talked love to her 
— young men will be young men — but marry her, aye, 
that he won’t. A princess is not too good for him, and 
since the sons of Scottish chieftains are marrying English 
princesses, why, my laddie would never marry a hired 
companion — never !” 

Smiling at the absurdity of the very idea, she went into 
her room. 

Edda appeared at the lunch-table, and was rather quiet, 
but Mrs. Vavasour was very talkative and did not notice 
her silence. After luncheon Edda strolled through the 
gardens, green-houses and conservatories. About three 
o’clock the carriage appeared in the porch, and the cen- 
tenarian took her place upon the rear seat, spreading out 


A SINGULAR COMPLICATION. 


289 


her velvets and ermine in the summer sunshine, and Edda 
seated herself opposite her employer. 

They drove down the mountain to a little hamlet called 
Brae Town, and ascended the mountain again by another 
road worse if possible than the first, arriving at the castle 
in time to dress for a late dinner. 

After dinner there was music in the drawing-room, 
and at ten o’clock Mrs. Vavasour retired, and Edda 
went to her own room. 

She sat up late writing a letter to Miss Powys. She 
said nothing concerning her discovery of the identity of 
the legitimate heir of Mrs. Vavasour, but gave in other 
respects a close narrative of her experiences at Storm 
Castle. She concluded her letter with certain guarded 
expressions of affection, and signed it, “ Truly yours, 
Edda Brend.” 

The letter sealed and addressed, Edda went to bed. 
Next morning, Mrs. Priggs, with the letter in her posses- 
sion, went away in the post-chaise which had brought 
her and Edda to the castle, and Edda was left alone to 
begin her new life. 

For two or three days everything passed smoothly. 
Mrs. Vavasour was inclined to be captious and suspi- 
cious of her young companion, but Edda’s unfailing good 
humor won upon her, and she grew to feel a strange 
sense of dependence upon the vivacious little brunette. 

Upon the third morning of Edda’s stay there arrived 
in the noon post — the earliest that reached Storm Castle 
— two letters for Mrs. Vavasour. She did not read them 
until the meal was concluded, and she was seated with 
Edda in her boudoir ; then she carefully examined the 
post-marks, her chin and nose seeming almost to meet 
as she continued her investigation. 

“ Humph !” she said. “ This letter is- from Gretta 
Cameron, of Glen Cameron, a great favorite of mine, 


290 


A SINGULAR COMPLICATION. 


Miss Brend. She writes a spidery, illegible hand, like 
many young ladies of the present day, and I find it dif- 
ficult to decipher — not that my sight is failing,” the cen- 
tenarian added quickly. — “ You shall read it to me.’ 

Edda complied with the command. 

The letter, written on tinted paper, with the most 
elaborate of monograms, in an almost illegible hand 
writing, was dated at “ Glen Cameron,” and stated that 
the author — Gretta Cameron — was dying to see her 
dearest, dearest grandmamma, and was going to treat 
herself to an informal visit of a week at Storm Castle, 
and would arrive the next day subsequent to the date 
of the letter. 

“ It was dated yesterday,” said Mrs. Vavasour. 

“Why, then she’ll be here to-day ! Glen Cameron is 
thirty miles from here, and that dear heedless Gretta 
knows that it usually takes a week for a letter to come 
from her to me. But perhaps this was sent by special 
messenger to Brae Town. Yes, that is it.” 

Edda folded and restored the letter to her employer. 

“ This other letter, also postmarked Brae Town, is from 
the minister of Brae kirk, who dines with me once a week. 
Read that also, Miss Brend. Let us hear what the dom- 
inie has to say by letter that he cannot say by word of 
mouth.” 

Edda opened and read the second letter. Its contents 
were as follows : 


“ Brae Manse, August 20th. 

“ My very Dear and Honored Friend : I write this 
letter to you as a minister of the church, and as one who 
would be a peacemaker between two noble but misguided 
souls. As you know, I visited Mr. Dugald Vavasour in 
London during my recent stay in the metropolis. 

“ I found him hard at work, of good habits, and well- 
grounded in the noble principles instilled in his mind in 


A SINGULAR COMPLICATION. 


291 


boyhood. He would be an honor to you, dear madam, 
and to your name. I invited him to come up and see me 
and make me a visit. All this you know. I have received 
to-day a letter from him, dated at some moor hamlet in 
Yorkshire, where he has been spending some days. This 
letter, written in great depression of mind, and under 
some great blow, as it seems to me, announces that he is 
tired of London, is weary and overworked, and that he 
will accept my invitation, and come to visit me at the 
manse on the 20th inst. His letter has been strangely 
delayed. He will arrive, d. v., to-day. 

“May I not implore you, honored madam, in consid- 
eration of your venerable years, and the certainty of the 
near change from mortality to immortality — may I not 
beseech you to reconcile yourself to Mr. Dugald Vava- 
sour before you go hence ? Will you not crown your 
life of well-doing by this act of justice and mercy to 
one so eminently worthy of your favor ? Under the cir- 
cumstances, I am constrained to deny myself the pleas- 
ure of my usual weekly visit to Storm Castle. I fear 
that my course toward your descendant may annoy you ; 
but while I earnestly deprecate your displeasure, honored 
madam, as a sorrow grievous to be borne, I must not be 
unmindful of my high calling, and of the duty I owe 
Him whom I serve. 

“ With the greatest esteem and a hopeful heart, 

“ I am, dear and venerable madame, 

“ Your, attached friend, J. Macdougal.” 

Mrs. Vavasour listened to the reading of this epistle 
with her chin on the head of her walking-stick, and a 
speculative look in her keen, hard eyes. 

“ Well, well,” she said, when Edda had finished, “ after 
all the favors I’ve heaped on the dominie, this is the way 
he turns on me. He thinks I’m near death, as he’s 
polite enough to say, and he wants to get on the right 
side of Dugald. But the dominie is after all but a sim- 
ple soul. Perhaps there’s a Providence in this thing, 
Miss Brend. Here are Gretta Cameron and Dugald 
coming here at the same time — both will arrive to-day. 


292 


MRS. VAVASOUR DISAPPOINTED. 


I will forgive Dugald and take him back on the old con- 
dition that he will marry Gretta. Write a note to that 
effect to Mr. Macdougal, and tell him that if Dugald is 
humbled enough to accept my terms I would be happy 
to have him and the dominie come up to the castle at 
once. I shall have my way at last, you see. I shall live 
to witness the marriage of my great-great-grandson to 
Gretta Cameron !” 

The old lady chuckled in her delight. 

And with a pale face and a heavy heart, Edda wrote 
the proposed letter from Mrs. Vavasour’s dictation. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

MRS. VAVASOUR DISAPPOINTED. 

Toward the close of the day upon which had arrived 
at Storm Castle the two letters whose contents we have 
given, the Cameron carriage laboriously ascended the 
rugged steeps of Mount Storm. It was a lumbering old 
yellow chariot of the most massive proportions, espe- 
cially adapted to rude mountain travel. It was drawn 
by four stout Highland horses, with postillion, coach- 
man and footman, all in livery, and was considered 
throughout that region a most imposing equipage, and 
only inferior to the somewhat similar one of Mrs. Vav- 
asour. 

The heiress of Glen Cameron, with her maid, occu- 
pied she roomy interior of the chariot, which in due 
course of time, after threatening to dislocate the bones 
of the occupants, jolted out of the rough mountain road, 
and entered upon the small plateau on which the castle 


MRS. VAVASOUR DISAPPOINTED. 


293 


was situated. A moment later, the chariot stopped 
abruptly in the porch of the castle. 

The tall, powdered, elderly footman who had received 
Edda upon her arrival, came solemnly down the steps, 
and stood with uncovered wig while Miss Camerson’s 
own servants assisted her to alight. He then gravely 
conducted the heiress and her maid into the castle, Mrs. 
Macray waiting to receive Miss Cameron just within 
the door. 

This was the invariable w ceremony attending the 
arrival of guests at Storm Castle. Mrs. Vavasour, with 
the state of a queen, never received her guests in person 
until they had first removed the dust of travel from 
their persons, and attired themselves in a becoming 
manner to enter her presence. 

Mrs. Macray conducted Miss Cameron up to her 
rooms, which were exceedingly spacious and luxurious. 
They were across the hall from the great chamber 
occupied by Edda, and were funished in more modern 
style and with greater luxury. 

Miss Cameron made her toilet with the assistance of 
her maid, her boxes having been sent up at once. And 
an hour later, just after candlelight, the heiress descended 
to the grand drawing-room of the castle. 

It was all ablaze with lights, wax candles in snowy, 
red-tipped forests filling the candelabra, the girandoles 
and glittering sconces, on every side, and the light being 
doubled by the arrangement of reflectors. The wide 
chimney-places were filled with growing ferns. Vases 
of quaint Oriental ware, of red Egyptian pottery, of 
Dresden and Sevres porcelain, were crowded with 
odorous flowers, and vines trailed from them in long, 
cool, green sprays. The windows were open, and the 
curtains, which were lowered, rose and fell with the soft 
breath of the mountain breeze. 


MRS. VAVASOUR DISAPPOINTED. 


294 


Mrs. Vavasour was seated in state in a very high and 
very tall backed chair of the Elizabethan period, which 
was exquisitely carved, and furnished with soft amber 
velvet cushions. This chair was so high up above the 
floor as to require a step .in mounting, and this step 
served as a foot-rest. 

Mrs. Vavasour, all aglow with excitement, her bead- 
like eyes glittering like black diamonds, her beak-like 
nose and pointed, upcurved chin working restlessly and 
nervously, was attired in a trained robe of royal purple 
velvet, profusely trimmed with her favorite garniture of 
ermine fur. She wore a magnificent parure of dia- 
monds, her ermine cloak, and held her staff in her hand. 
In spite of her haughtiness and pride, her queenly attire, 
and her high-breeding, she reminded one irresistibly of 
one of the witches in Macbeth. 

Eddawas dressed in black grenadine, with wide gold- 
colored sash and ornaments of coral. She was a little 
pale, but bright and saucy of aspect as usual. If trou- 
bles assailed her, if doubts and fears were gnawing liKe 
vultures in her heart, Edda did not permit the fact to be 
known. She was one to “ die in silence.” 

Mrs. Vavasour arose at the entrance of her guest, and 
descending from her chair, came forward to meet her. 

Miss Cameron, with a little shriek of delight, sprang 
forward and was clasped in the venerable lady’s 
embrace. 

“ Oh, my dear, dearest grandmamma !” cried the Scot- 
tish heiress, kissing Mrs. Vavasour’s withered wrinkled 
face with effusiveness. “ It’s a whole month since I’ve 
seen you, and I’ve been dying for a sight of your dear 
face !” 

“I am glad to see you, Gretta,” said the little old lady, 
who seemed flattered by this outburst of apparent affec- 
tion. “ I am very glad you took it into your little head 


MRS. VAVASOUR DISAPPOINTED. 


295 


to pay me this visit. It has happened better than you 
think, although I am no longer alone.” 

Mrs. V avasour released her visitor, retreated a few 
steps, and said, after her quaint yet stately fashion : 

“Miss Cameron, this young lady is my new compan- 
ion, Miss Brend. She is already a great acquisition to 
me. Miss Brend, this is Miss Cameron of Glen Cameron, 
one of the richest heiresses in Scotland, and a particular 
favorite of mine.” 

Edda bowed coldly. Miss Cameron favored the young 
“ companion ” with a supercilious nod. 

Miss Cameron had been described to Edda as a 
“beauty.” Her beauty, however, doubtless consisted 
in her fortune, since none was to be discovered in her 
form or face. 

She was simply a tall, raw-boned young woman of 
some three-and-twenty years of age, of peculiarly robust 
appearance, and having a freckled complexion, high 
cheek-bones, a low forehead, a pair of small, light-colored 
eyes, and a profusion of sandy hair. Her nose was 
extremely small, being of the species called “snub,” 
while her mouth, by some awkward manifestation of the 
rule of compensation, was extremely large, and so formed 
as to open widely and display a peculiarly ill-looking set, 
or portion of a set, of teeth at every smile she indulged 
in, and every word she uttered. 

Nature having been so niggardly in dealing out per- 
sonal charms to Miss Cameron, the young lady had 
called art to her assistance with some success. The per- 
fection of art is to seem artless, and Miss Cameron could 
not, therefore, be credited with a perfect success, since- 
a keen eye could detect the enamel on her cheeks, the 
carmine on her lips, the touches of belladonna about her 
eyes, and even the pencilings on her scanty, red eye- 
brows. But her dress was surely a triumph. She wore 


296 


MRS. VAVASOUR DISAPPOINTED. 


a long, pale-blue faille silk, with short sleeves and very 
decolette indeed, and a white, puffed-lace over-dress, and 
flowers in her hair. 

“ Another ‘ companion,’ dear grandmamma ?” cried 
Miss Cameron, arching her brows. “ I thought you had 
exhausted the sisterhood. I did not know that any re- 
mained whom you had not tried.” 

“ Oh, yes, Gretta,” said the venerable lady of Storm 
Castle, smiling indulgently upon her guest. “But Miss 
Brend does not properly belong to the ‘sisterhood.’ — 
She is a lady and the friend of a friend of mine, whom I 
esteem very highly. You remember Miss Powys, do you 
not ?” 

“ Miss Powys, the unapproachable ! Oh, yes, I re- 
member her,” said Miss Cameron, flippantly. “ She had 
a haughty way of her own, I know, and kept one at arm’s 
length. She used to visit Storm Castle.” 

“ And will visit it again, I hope,” said the aged hostess, 
“ Miss Brend is a very dear friend of Miss Powys, who 
kindly sent her to me with especial recommendations to 
my care and kindness. You two young people will nec- 
essarily see much of each other, and ought to become 
friends.” 

Miss Cameron smiled upon Edda condescendingly. 
That very independent young lady replied by a cool, 
haughty smile that certainly indicated that she had no 
intention of fawning upon the Scottish heiress. 

Mrs. Vavasour resumed her seat, motioning her guest 
to a chair. 

“ You have no idea, my dear Gretta,” the old lady 
observed, “ how opportune is your visit to us. I think I 
recognize the hand of Providence in it. Certainly, it is a 
most remarkable coincidence. You cannot guess,” she 
added, in a fluttered voice and with a sudden excite- 


MRS. VAVASOUR DISAPPOINTED. 


297 


ment kindling in her withered face, “whom I expect 
here to-day ?” 

Miss Cameron’s face flushed and her dull eyes bright- 
ened. 

“ Not — not Mr. Vavasour ?” she faltered. 

“ Yes, my dear,” said the centenarian, triumphantly. 
“ Dugald is coming home !” 

“ Oh, I am so rejoiced — so delighted — so astonished !” 
cried Miss Cameron, excitedly. “ Dugald coming home ! 
Then you have forgiven him and taken him back to your 
heart, dear, dearest Mrs. Vavasour ? Oh, what does it 
all mean ?” 

“ It means, my dear,” said the old lady, “ that Dugald 
is come to his senses. He has been a year in London, 
making sketches to sell, writing for the daily news- 
papers, living in a garret — and starving. And at Tast, 
like the prodigal son in Scripture, tired of husks, he has 
said to himself that he would arise and go to his father’s 
house. I suppose that he is at this moment at Brae 
Manse, my dear.” 

“So near!” exclaimed Miss Cameron, ecstatically. 
“ Then he will soon be here.” 

Mrs. Vavasour glanced at the little mantel clock. 

“ Yes, he will soon be here,” she said, vivaciously. 
“ He could not arrive at Brae Town until five o’clock, , 
and I have had dinner put off an hour upon his account. 
He will certainly be here by seven o’clock.” 

“I am so glad !” murmured Miss Cameron. “I have 
grieved deeply over this estrangement between you and 
Mr. Vavasour, dearest grandmamma — if I may call you 
so any longer. I .have grieved the more because the 
estrangement was upon my account. It is terrible to be 
the cause of dissension in a household. No one knows 
what I have suffered.” 

“ The boy was to blame for the estrangement, Gretta, 


298 


MRS. VAVASOUR DISAPPOINTED. 


not you. What right had he, at the age of two-and- 
twenty, to set up his will against mine, when I am almost 
a century old ?” demanded Mrs. Vavasour. “ Most of 
the young people of the present generation are wilful 
and self-conceited, and, disregarding the wisdom of their 
ancestors, want to think for themselves. Dugald has 
learned a lesson that will last him for life, I think. He 
has come back humbled and repentant. I shall forgive 
him and receive him with open arms, for, Gretta, after 
all, I have suffered during this year more than he could 
have done. He is the light of my eyes, the idol of my 
heart, and I have prayed night and morning that he 
would come back to me,” said the centenarian, with a 
quiver of her shriveled lips, and a softening of her hard 
glittering eyes. “ I knew he would come back sooner or 
• later, and that he must yield his will to mine. It’s a hard 
world to get a living in, if one is not trained to work ; 
and then, proud as the lad is, I know he loves me.” 

“Yes, I know he does,” said Miss Cameron, absently. 

‘ But if he is coming home, am I not in the way here, 
dear grandmamma ? I ought to go home — ” 

“ Have you ceased to love Dugald ?” asked Mrs. Vav- 
asour, fiercely. 

Miss Cameron blushed, and murmured a negative. 

“Then you will stay. On what terms do you suppose 
that I have taken Dugald back again ? Upon condition, 
of course, that he yields his will to mine. It is my 
desire to unite the estates of Ben Storm and Glen Cam- 
eron. And then I choose to seclect Dugald’s bride for 
him. He’s impulsive, warm-hearted and generous, just 
the nature to become the prey of some poor designing 
girl, and I want to see him married and out of harm’s 
reach. I know no alliance so fitting for him as one 
with the heiress of the Camerons. No, my dear, my 
will is inflexible as iron. I received a letter, with yours, 


MRS. VAVASOUR DISAPPOINTED. 


299 


from Mr. McDougal, stating that he expected Dugald 
to arrive at the manse to-day, and begging me to be 
reconciled to my great-great-grandson. I sent back an 
answer that, if Dugald should come to me in submission, 
my castle, my arms, my heart, were open to receive him. 
But he must not come otherwise.” 

“ He will come in submission,” said Miss Cameron, 
placidly. “ Dugald has too much sense to go back to 
London to hard work and poor pay when he might be 
master here. Hark, is not that the sound of carriage: 
wheels ?” 

Mrs. Vavasour descended from her chair and clattered 
to the window, parting the curtains, and looking out. 

Miss Cameron hastened to follow the example of her * 
venerable hostess. 

Edda arose and stood like a statue, eager and white, 
one hand pressed to her wildly-beating heart. 

Well she knew that Dugald Vavasour’s return upon 
the terms offered by his ancestress would be the death- 
blow to all her own young hopes. And in that moment 
she realized how she loved him. 

“ I shall see the stuff he’s made of,” she thought, bit- 
terly. “ Of course, I could never have been his wife, 
but yet to marry this Miss Cameron for money — oh, he 
could not do it !” 

There was a moment’s death-like silence in the room, 
and then Mrs. Vavasour cried out, shrilly : 

“It is no carriage, but a man on horseback. The 
night is not clear — I cannot see distinctly — but it is, it 
must be, Dugald ! He is come !” 

Trembling like a leaf, the aged lady leaning heavily 
on her staff, went back to her chair. Her eyes glittered 
like diamonds ; her yellow face had a red flush upon it ; 
her breath came quickly and pantingly, and her claw- 
like hands clutched her staff with fierce emphasis. 


300 


MRS. VAVASOUR DISAPPOINTED. 


The horseman rode out of sight behind an angle of 
the castle. Miss Cameron stole back silently to her 
seat. Only Edda remained standing, pale like death, her 
eyes glowing like black stars. 

The minutes passed in breathless waiting. No rihg- 
ing tread was heard in the great hall. But at last a 
knock sounded upon the door of the drawing-room, and 
a tall, elderly, liveried footman appeared, bringing a let- 
ter on a salver. He approached his venerable mistress, 
and bending low before her, presented the salver. 

“A letter!” cried Mrs. Vavasour, in a cracked voice, 
which was yet full of command. “ Where is he — where 
is my grandson, Macdonald ?” 

The footman looked bewildered. 

“If you please, my leddy,” he said, “Minister’s ser- 
vant brought a letter from the manse, and he’s waiting 
for an answer.” 

“Perhaps Mr. Dugald is ill at the manse, or in Lon- 
don,” suggested Miss Cameron, anxiously. 

“111?” said Mrs. Vavasour, hoarsely. “Miss Brend, 
take the letter. Macdonald, bid the messenger wait. 
Now, Miss Brend, read the letter.” 

The footman went noiselessly out. Edda opened the 
letter and read it aloud. It was from the minister of 
Brae Kirk, and its contents were as follows : 

“ Brae Manse, Aug. 20 th. 

“ Most Venerable and Honored Madam : I have 
to announce to you that Mr. Vavasour is at this moment 
under the shelter of my humble roof. He arrived nearly 
an hour since. I have made known to him the terms 
upon which you are willing to receive him back into his 
rightful position as your heir, and into your affections. 
Mr. Vavasour has been overworked, and has been 
ordered by his physician to seek his native air. He is a 
noble young gentleman, dear madam, and worthy your 


MRS. YAYASOUR DISAPPOINTED. 


301 


best love. He loves you deeply and sincerely. He tells 
me that his estrangement from you, the only mother he 
ever knew, has been to him a deep and lasting sorrow. 
But he bids me say — and I do his bidding with a shrink- 
ing heart — that dear as you are to him he cannot forfeit 
his own self-respect and do violence to his sense of 
honor, by complying with your demand that he shall 
seek the hand of Miss Cameron in marriage. He knows 
that Miss Cameron has recently passed through Brae 
Town on her way to Ben Storm, and I cannot persuade 
him to come to you and plead his own cause. But, dear 
and honored madam, let your heart plead for your des- 
cendant. Let your sense of justice induce you to re- 
store to him your favor. Perhaps, in time, he might be 
won to fulfill your wishes, but he is not one to be forced 
into a course repulsive to all his ideas of right. I im- 
plore you, dear madam, as one standing as it were upon 
the threshold of eternity, to soften your heart toward 
Mr. Dugald. He will remain with me a week. I beg 
that you will graciously accord him permission to visit 
you without conditions, and it may be that you and he 
will then arrive at some agreeable mutual understand- 
ing.” 

The letter concluded with an earnest renewed appeal 
to Mrs. Vavasour’s love for her descendant, her sense of 
justice, her solemn duty in the premises, and implored 
her not to give herself up to hardness of heart and the 
working of her own will, but to so act now that when 
dying she would have nothing to regret. 

Edda’s voice trembled as she read, but there was a 
certain triumph in her tones despite their tremulousness. 
Her lover was true to her ; he was worthy her highest 
love and honor ; and, even if she might not marry him, 
he would be in her eyes as a demi-god to the end of her 
days. 

Miss Cameron put her handkerchief to her eyes, and, 
as Edda finished reading and the silence became strange 
and oppressive, the heiress sobbed out ; 


302 


MRS. VAVASOUR DISAPPOINTED. 


“Oh, dear! oh, dear! I wish I had not come here. 
That letter is all an insult to me. He hates me. He 
won’t marry me ever, and I’ve been taught to consider 
him my future husband, and I’ve refused good offers^ 
just because you said he was only wilful, Mrs. Vavasour, 
and that he’d get on his knees to me in time, I have been 
deluded, wronged, and now I’m scorned. I shall go 
home in the morning — if it kills the horses.” 

These complaints affected Mrs. Vavasour much as the 
stinging of gnats or musquitoes might have done. She 
did not comprehend their import, but they aroused her. 

Knitting her heavy white brows fiercely, agitating her 
bfcak-like nose with a convulsive movement up and down 
as the muscles twitched nervously, and compressing her 
shrunken lips into a long, straight, white line, the aged 
lady looked the incarnation of malignancy and hatred. 
Red sparks shot from her black eyes, and her claw-like 
fingers opened and shut as by mechanical contrivance. 

“ So he defies me still !” muttered the old lady, 
huskily. “ He dares to set up his boyish sense of honor, 
forsooth, and his own will — against mine ! Miss 
Brend.” 

“Yes, Madam,” said Edda, with a thrill of alarm. 

“ Get writing materials.” 

There were writing materials conveniently at hand. 
Edda brought them to a table near which was her em- 
ployer. 

“ Now write,” said Mrs. Vavasour, “ these words : 
no more, no less : 

“ ‘Mrs. Vavasour acknowledges the reception of Mr. 
Macdougal’s letter. She has only to say that she de- 
sires the correspondence concerning Mr. Dugald Vava- 
•sour to drop. His day of grace is over. She desires 
never to hear his name or see his face again. As he 
has sown, so shall he reao.’ ” 


MRS. VAVASOUR DISAPPOINTED. 


303 


“ Have you finished, Miss Brend ? Very good. Now 
address it to Mr. Macdougal of Brae Manse.” 

Edda did as directed. 

“And now,” said Mrs. Vavasour, in a harder, colder 
voice, “ write another letter. It will be brief also, only 
these words : 

“ ‘ Mrs. Vavasour desires to see Mr. McKay of Kirk- 
faldy at Ben Storm at his earliest possible conven- 
ience.’ ” 

The letter was duly written. 

“ Be so good as to ring the bell, Miss Brend,” said the 
old lady. 

The bell was rung and the footman appeared. 

“ Give the messenger from the minister that letter, 
Macdonald,” said Mrs. Vavasour. “And send a messen- 
ger upon the fleetest horse in the stable with that letter 
to Mr. McKay of Kirkfaldy. The distance is five-and- 
twenty miles. Let the messenger ride without stop- 
ping till he reaches Kirkfaldy. Be sure to send a trusty 
messenger, who must return by to-morrow night, what- 
ever the state of the roads.” 

Macdonald took the letters and withdrew. 

“Who is Mr. McKay of Kirkfaldy, dear grandmam- 
ma ?” asked Miss Cameron, softly, after a very long sil- 
ence. “ And what can he do to Dugald ?” 

“Mr. McKay is my lawyer,” replied Mrs. Vavasour, in 
a harsh, croaking voice. “And I have sent for him to 
make my will. I have waited — hoping — but that’s all 
over. McKay will be here to-morrow night, and I’ll 
leave Ben Storm and every penny I own to strangers. 
Dugald has crossed the line beyond which forgiveness 
is impossible !” 

She shut her lips close together, her beaked nose and 


304 


AN IMMEASURABLE JOY. 


upcurved chin almost meeting. ' And thus she waited 
until the sound of horses’ hoofs proclaimed the fact that 
the two messengers had left the castle on their fateful 
errands. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

AN IMMEASURABLE JOY. 

All excitement, Hellene gained the window of her 
tower-chamber, and looked down into the court-yard of 
the chateau. The three sides of the chateau held it in 
shadow from moonlight, but Alphonse was holding high 
a lighted flambeau, that threw a red light upon the 
scene, revealing it distinctly. Hellene could see the 
paved yard, the grass plot in its centre, the playing 
fountain, the figures of Lord Charlewick and Lord Clair 
lying lazily upon the grass, and each smoking a cigar, 
the white-capped kitchen-maid in the background, the 
old rnustached housekeeper, and in the red-lighted fore- 
ground, most prominent of all, the two Tyrolese singers 

And upon the elder of these, the one who was singing, 
Hellene fixed her wild gaze. 

His face was upturned as he gave utterance to the 
cool, high trills of his mountain song. There was a 
bright light in Hellene’s chamber, and as her face ap- 
peared at the window, her head distinctly defined 
against the light background, the Tyrolean must in- 
evitably have seen her. Had he known her, he must 
have recognized her, for the golden fluff of hair halo- 
ing the small head, the pure, fair face, the slender neck, 
were plainly revealed ; but if he were indeed Lord Ron- 


AN IMMEASURABLE JOY, 


305 


aid, and if he knew her, he permitted no sign of such 
knowledge to escape him. 

Only the trills and quavers peculiar to his Tyrolese 
song crept into his voice, and his face was calm and 
unmoved, as if he were indeed what he seemed. 

Hellene slid aside the plate glass lower sash and 
leaned out. The Tyrolean did not seem to see her. 

“It is Ronald — it is !** the girl murmured. “ I should 
know his voice among a thousand, and he learned that 
song last year in the Tyrol, and often sung it to me. 
And yet the disguise is so perfect that I fear — I fear — ” 

She did not complete the sentence, but watched the 
singer with straining eyes. 

When he had finished the song, the elder Tyrolean 
gave place to the younger, who proceeded to entertain 
his listeners with still another Alpine song. 

The elder Tyrolean retreated into the shadow, and 
leaned listlessly and wearily against the house wall. He 
pushed back his tall-laced hat and wiped his forehead. 
Then he looked upward, not stealthily, but as if observ- 
ing the sky. No one paid any heed to his movements 
except the imprisoned watcher high up in the tower. 
But she beheld him make a significant gesture that 
showed that he saw her and intended to communicate 
with her. 

“Do you understand Italian, milor?” inquired the 
elder Tyrolean, when his young companion had finished, 
addressing himself to the baron, and speaking in 
French. 

“Not I,” said the fat baron. “With a knowledge of 
French and English, and plenty of money, what more 
does a man want ? The time he spends in learning other 
languages is time lost.” 

“ You must except the Spanish language, Clair,” said 
the half-Spanish Earl of Charlewick. “Ah ! Spanish is 


306 


AN IMMEASURABLE JOY. 


a language fit for the gods. Italian is for babies — not 
that I know a word in it,” he added, contemptuously, 
“but I judge so from having heard Italian operas years 
ago. I could never make out a word of meaning to the 
jingle.” 

“ Pity,” said the Tyrolean. “ I know Italian. I impro- 
vise in that language, milor — ” 

“Oh, indeed. You are an improvisatore,” said the 
earl, lazily, puffiing out a cloud of smoke. “ Give us 
the benefit of your talents.” 

He tossed the man a handful of coppers. The young 
Tyrolean hastened to pick them up, while the elder, 
playing a slow prelude, improvised a song, which was 
more a chant than a song, and which, without rhyming, 
rose and fell in rich, sweet cadences like the waves of 
the sea. 

And while he chanted the singer watched the placid 
faces of the two villainous confederates who, lying on 
the ground, continued to smoke their cigars. 

It was plain that none of the listeners in the court- 
yard comprehended one word of the improvisation. 

And it was well that they did not. For the “ song” 
was merely an address to the prisoner of the watch- 
tower. It enjoined her to be brave and hopeful, for a 
friend was near. It bade her not start nor cry out, for 
her friend was the singer, and the singer was her lover. 
It told her to be on her watch, for help was coming 
from the sea. It bade her look from her seaward win- 
dows at midnight, and watch for a friendly sail to creep 
up under the tower. 

At this point the baron chanced to uplift his gaze, 
and so beheld the eager face at the open tower-window. 

The earl made the same discovery at the same instant, 
and a fear assailed the two confederates lest Hellene 


AN IMMEASURABLE JOY. 307 

should seek to communicate with the Tyrolean, and in- 
form him that she was a prisoner. 

“ Come, come, we’ve had enough,” interrupted Lord 
Clair, roughly. 11 Be off with you. Alphonse, conduct 
these fellow’s to the wood.” 

No time was granted the wandering singers to put up 
their instruments in their green baize bags. Alphonse 
hurried them out of the court-yard and into the wood, 
when, taking his tone from his master, he bade them be- 
gone or he would set the dogs upon them. 

He watched them vanish in the darkness, and returned 
to the court-yard, and passed in to the servant’s hall with 
the housekeeper and kitchen-maid. 

Hellene sank back in her chair, her pale face glowing. 

“ It was Lord Ronald, Letty !” she cried. “ His dis- 
appearance meant only that he was searching for me. 
They intercepted my letters, but they could not prevent 
his finding me.” 

“ But that singer was dark and heavy, and Lord Ron- 
ald is fair and slender,” said Letty, who had taken a sly 
peep at the improvisatore over her young mistress’ 
shoulder. “ There was no resemblance, Miss Hellene.” 

“ But I knew him — I alone !” breathed Hellene. “ He 
could not disguise himself beyond my recognition.” 

“ He can do you no good, dear Miss Hellene,” sighed 
the maid. “ We are at the top of this high tower, where 
he can never get to us. We are guarded and doubly 
guarded. And this door is a perfect rock between you 
and my lord. He can never enter the chateau for the 
dogs, and should he once get in, there are enemies and 
heavy doors to encounter. No, no, my lady, there’s no 
hope.” 

“ But there is hope, Letty. Lord Ronald and I studied 
Italian together under the same tutor. That last song 
was in Italian, and was not really a song at all, but a 


308 


AN IMMEASURABLE JOY. 

* 

speech to-me under cover of a seeming song. And in it 
Lord Ronald says that he will be under the tower-win- 
dows on the water-side in a boat, about midnight, and 
that he will rescue us.” 

“ But, Miss Hellene, it’s three hundred feet from the 
top of the tower to the water below,” cried Letty, 
frightened. 

“ We are twenty feet below the very top of the tower, 
Letty, and it’s not over eighty feet from our windows to 
the upper edge of the cliff. If Lord Ronald thinks it 
safe for us to descend, I shall descend.” 

“ Where you can go, Miss Hellene, I can go,” said 
Letty. “And if you attempt the descent, I will also, if 
it kills me.” 

Hellene smiled gayly. Something of her old light- 
heartedness came to her in the blessed relief of this 
moment. To know that her lover was safe — was near — 
would attempt her rescue — filled her soul with joy. 

“ We must have a rope by which to descend,” she 
said. “But we cannot make one long enough, or stout 
enough. What are we to do ?” 

“ Lord Ronald may think to bring a rope,” suggested 
Letty. 

“ Why, yes, of course he will. He will think of every- 
thing. But how will he get his rope up to us ?” pon- 
dered Hellene. “ He could shoot it up with an arrow 
or a rocket, but it might not reach us, and my father or 
the earl might hear. Thank fortune that they deem me 
so securely guarded on the channel side that they have 
chosen rooms in a distant wing of the chateau over- 
looking the court-yard ! How — but ah, I have it ! 
There is a ball of fine red cord in one of my trunks, 
Letty. We’ll lower that, and with a letter on the end 
of it, and Lord Ronald will attach a rope to it, or else a 
note telling us what to do. Find the cord, Letty.” 


AN IMMEASURABLE JOY. 


309 


The maid hastened to the trunk and found the de- 
sired ball of cord. It was stout and heavy, of linen 
closely twisted, and was intended to be employed in 
some species of fancy work for which Hellene had a 
taste. 

“ It’s not near long enough, Miss Hellene,” said the 
maid. “ Three hundred feet is a terrible long way. But 
here is a packet of a dozen round silk stay laces ; they 
will help.” 

“ You can tear up sheets and garments enough to 
make up the rest, Letty,” said Hellene. 

This was done. Over three hundred feet of string 
was obtained and placed ready for use. 

The next movement was thoroughly to barricade the 
door, so that one might not easily effect entrance from 
without. 

And the next movement was to cover the two win- 
dows, the one opening toward the court-yard and the 
other toward the wood, with heavy blankets. 

And last of all Letty packed her mistress’ traveling- 
bag, while Hellene attired herself in a costume of black 
silk, and put on her hat and vail. 

“ I must be all ready when the boat comes,” she said, 
“ and I must be dressed in a manner that will not at- 
tract attention whether I land in France or England. 
Now put out the lights, Letty. We must watch.” 

They took their positions at different windows, and 
looked down upon the waters of the channel. 

The night had lost whatever brightness it might have 
had at an earlier hour, and though not densely dark, yet 
a faint gloom hung over sea and shore like a thick mist. 

Presently Hellene whispered, softly : 

“ Letty, is not that a sail a little wav out in the 
channel ?” 


310 


AN IMMEASURABLE JOY. 


Letty peered out into the mist with increased keen- 
ness. 

“ Yes, miss,” she answered, also in a whisper. “ But 
I’m sure it's the same boat that’s been lying there two 
or three days, the one the earl and Lord Clair went 
aboard of yesterday. It’s a little yacht, miss, and it’s 
one the earl has bought or hired, I’m sure.” 

“ Are you sure that this sail is the earl’s yacht ?” asked 
Hellene. “This seems to be standing inshore. Yes, it 
moves like a shadow. This is not the earl’s yacht. It 
is nearly one o’clock — it is Lord Ronald’s.” 

Like a pale shadow, the sail Hellene’s keen eyes had 
detected crept through the mist, as silent as a spectre- 
ship. Hellene watched breathlessly. The shadow crept 
under the cliff upon which the tower was perched, and 
then a faint light, like the flare of a match, was seen for 
a single instant. 

Hellene had written her note and attached it to the 
rope. She had also weighted the missive with a paper- 
weight, and she now lowered it, pa}dng out the string 
cautiously and slowly until near its end. Then a gentle 
pull upon it told her that it had reached friendly hands. 

There was a faint gleam of light below upon the 
spectre-like vessel, as if the slide were turned for an 
inch in a dark lantern, then presently came a second 
pull at the string. 

“ That is the signal to draw up,” said Hellene. “ Come 
to this window, Letty.” 

The maid obeyed. The string was drawn up slowly 
and carefully, lest it should be cut by the rocks below 
the tower. It was found that no letter was attached to 
the string, but only a heavier rope. This being drawn 
in was found to be attached to something so heavy as 
to require the Strength of both mistress and maid. This 
heavy object proved to be a ladder of stout silken rope, 


AN IMMEASURABLE JOY. 


311 


with thick rounds and massive side-ropes, a regularly- 
patented fire-escape, with stout iron hooks at the end to 
attach to the window-sill. 

Hellene made the discovery with her fingers and with 
the faint light nature afforded, for she dared not light a 
candle. With Letty’s aid she hooked the ladder securely 
to the massive projecting window-sill, and then said : 

“ I suppose we are to descend now, Letty. It is a 
dangerous business, and I shall descend first — ” 

“No, no, Miss Hellene, let me go first,” pleaded the 
maid. 

“My dear good Letty, that cannot be,” said Hellene 
affectionately. “I must go first. If there is danger, it 
is for me to encounter it.” 

The creaking of the ladder at this moment attracted 
their attention. Both looked out. They beheld a dark 
object mounting swiftly toward them. 

“ It is Lord Ronald,” said Hellene. “ He is come for 
me !” 

It was Lord Ronald Charlton, and he had come for 
her. He had laid aside his disguise as a Tyrolean, and 
wore his English dress. He had on no cap, nor boots. 
He showed his face above the window-sill, and looked 
into the tower-chamber, Hellene having retreated a few 
steps. 

“Hellene !” he whispered, softly. 

“ Here, Ronald !”she answered, shyly, coming to him. 

There was no time for words. He did not offer to 
embrace her. But the look that passed between them 
was most eloquent of gladness. 

“ Come, Hellene,” he said. “ I will take you down.” 

“ Letty is here, Ronald.” 

“ I will send a sailor up for her. Come, darling. 
Shut your eyes if you feel giddy. Trust in me. Now.” 

She climbed over the window-sill in a tremor of fear, 


312 


AN IMMEASURABLE JOY. 


and clung to the ladder. Then Ronald’s arm was 
around her, her head was pressed close against Ronald’s 
breast, and very slowly they began the descent. The 
ladder did not sway, being fixed at the bottom to the 
ledge of rock at the base of the tower, yet it seemed an 
age to Hellene before they stood at last upon that rocky 
ledge, and only one-third of the way down the descent 

The ladder ended here, and Lord Ronald stepped 
with Hellene upon the rock, where he released her. 

A sailor waited here at this point with a bottle of 
wine, which he proffered to both Ronald and Hellene, 
who alike refused it. 

“There’s a girl up in the tower, Tom,” said Lord 
Ronald. “ She is waiting for you to come for her. Is 
all safe below ?” 

“ All safe, my lord.” 

“ And there’s no sign of alarm on the earl’s vessel out 
yonder?” 

“ None whatever, my lord.” 

The sailor began to climb the ladder by which Lord 
Ronald had just descended, and our hero whispered : 

“ Come, Hellene, my brave darling ! There’s a yacht 
below us waiting to take us to safety. Cling to me 
tightly. Here’s another ladder. Come !” 

He stepped upon the ladder, and Hellene crept down 
to him, and they descended very slowly another hun- 
dred feet. The second ladder here ended, at a little 
niche in the face of the cliff where the two paused to 
rest. A little below, a third “fire escape” was found, 
and Lord Ronald descended safely down its entire 
length, it being stayed at various points, and dropped at 
last upon the deck of his vessel, with Hellene in his 
arms. 

The descent had been one of extreme peril and fatigue. 
Had any other avenue of escape been afforded, Lord 


THE EARL DANGEROUSLY NEAR. 313 

Ronald would never have chosen this one. He was 
weak and exhausted, and sank down upon the deck, 
drawing Hellene close beside him in a tender thankful- 
ness too deep for words. 

Men, like shadows, so noiseless were they, grouped 
around the young pair, offering stimulants, of which 
both were glad to partake. 

“ I hope Letty will get down safely,” murmured Hel- 
lene. 

She had scarcely spoken the words before a rocket 
went up from the earl’s vessel lying out in the channel, 
and by its lurid glare they could see the sailor descend- 
ing the topmost ladder with Letty on his back. 

“Discovered!” cried Lord Ronald, springing to his 
feet. 

The next moment a gun was fired from the deck of 
the earl’s vessel, twice in succession, in a shrill boom of 
alarm, and then a boat, manned by stout rowers, shot 
out from the shadow of the earl’s yacht toward the shore 
many rods below the chateau and the cliff upon which 
it was built. 

“ We are lost !” breathed Hellene. “ Before Letty can 
descend our enemies will be upon us !” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE EARL DANGEROUSLY NEAR. 

In a wild and breathless excitement, the occupants of 
Lord Ronald’s vessel watched the perilous descent of 
Letty and the sailor down the steep face of the cliff. 

A second rocket was sent up from the earl’s vessel ly- 


314 


THE EARL DANGEROUSLY NEAR. 


in g out in the channel, and in it£ red glare they could 
see signs of activity about the hostile yacht, men mov- 
ing on her deck and unfurling her sails. 

And now suddenly lights gleamed from the windows 
of the chateau far above them. The boat’s crew could 
not have reached the dwelling. The inmates of the cha- 
teau must have been aroused by the firing of the gun on 
the earl’s yacht. Lights gleamed in the windows of 
Hellene’s tower-chamber, and in their bright glare two 
men were seen looking outward and downward. 

“ My father and the earl !” breathed Hellene. “ They 
are pulling at the topmost ladder. They will descend ! 
No, they dare not. They leave the window. They will 
go down through the wood to the bottom of the cliff 
and take the boat to their yacht. Oh, Ronald, they will 
intercept us yet !” 

“ They shall not take you from me, Hellene,” said 
Lord Ronald, in a tone that calmed her fears, as he 
drew her slender figure yet closer. “Trust in me, my 
darling.” 

The sailor, with Letty on his back, looking like a mere 
black spot on the face of the cliff, continued to descend 
swiftly, yet to the eager watchers below he seemed to 
move slowly. 

“There’s a footpath through the wood from the cha- 
teau down to the beach at the foot of the cliff, which is 
not one-tenth of the distance by the road,” said Hellene 
in a whisper. “ I think my father and Lord Charlewick 
must be half-way down the cliff.” 

Letty and the sailor were now rapidly descending the 
lowermost ladder. Not a word was spoken now on the 
little vessel. And three minutes later, Letty and her 
rescuer dropped heavily upon the deck. 

As if the sound were a signal, the little vessel bounded 
forward like a hound slipped from the leash. 


THE EARL DANGEROUSLY NEAR. 


315 


A brief series of manoeuvres, a few moments of time, 
and the little craft was out in the channel, her sails 
bellying in the wind, and speeding forward like a sea- 
gull. 

Lord Ronald's yacht went very near to the earl’s, but 
not a word was spoken on either vessel. Gazing s*hore- 
wards, Ronald and his friends could see the row-boat 
pushing off toward the earl’s yacht, and could hear the 
earl’s voice in command. 

“ They will be after us directly,” said our hero, calmly. 
“ But they are too late. We shall have ten minutes 
start. We are safe.” 

Letty crept forward to claim her youitg mistress’ 
attention. Hellene spoke to her, and ascertained that 
she had made the descent in ease and safety. 

“ But the sailor’s hands are bleeding, Miss Hellene,” 
said the maid. “ Oh, it was awful, that descent ! I was 
that giddy I had to shut my eyes. They are giving the 
sailor brandy, for with my weight and the long strain 
upon him he’s as weak as a child.” 

“And he a sailor used to climbing,” said Hellene. 
“ His hands must be as hard as horn. If his hands 
bleed, how must yours be, Ronald ? Let me see them, 
dear.” 

She caught at them and held them close to her eyes 
in the dim light. Lord Ronald would have hid them 
from her but that her quick movement prevented him. 
They were cut and raw and bleeding, as if they had been 
hacked with knives. Under cover of the gloom, Hel- 
lene pressed the wounded hands to her lips. Lord Ron- 
ald flushed deeply, as Hellene did not see, and drew his 
hands away abruptly, as if such caresses from her were 
too great condescension. 

“ They were wounded for me,” said Hellene, simply. 


316 


THE EARL DANGEROUSLY NEAR. 


“And I would die for you, Hellene,” he answered, in 
an ardent whisper, ‘‘and count it happiness so to die.” 

Hellene looked backward over the waters. The row- 
boat had gained the earl’s yacht, and the rowers were 
following Lord Charlewick and the baron to her deck. 
And even while she looked, the row-boat was drawn up 
to the davits, and the yacht moved forward slowly and 
with staggering motion in pursuit. 

The captain of Lord Ronald’s yacht, a hearty English 
skipper, came forward, touching his hat. 

“ ‘ A stern chase is a long chase,’ my lord,” he said 
* If the earl’s French vessel can beat the Will o' the Wisp 
I’m mistaken. And so, my lord, you may safely trust 
me to outrun the vessel yonder ; and if you will go down 
to the cabin with the young lady, you will find a little 
collation spread for you, and the steward in attend- 
ance.” 

As Ronald could do no good by remaining on deck, 
he concluded to follow the advice of the skipper and go 
below. Giving Hellene his arm, he conducted her across 
the deck to the companion-way, Letty following. 

And now Hellene could see what she had before been 
too excited to observe — that she was upon a graceful 
English yacht of some thirty tons burden, which was 
manned by English seamen. She passed down the com- 
panion-way with her lover, and entered a luxurious little 
cabin, with state-rooms opening from it. 

The cabin was large for a veseel of the size, and was 
lighted with mellow swinging lamps and wax candles in 
sconces, similar to those used on ocean steamers. As 
the cabin windows were in the form of a skylight, no 
light could escape from the cabin to guide the pursuing 
vessel. A wide Turkish divan, covered with scarlet 
satin, was on two sides of the room. There was a long 
stationary table, with sofas on each side of it, and a 


THE EARL DANGEROUSLY NEAR. 


317 


hanging rack for glasses and decanters above it ; there 
were two or three easy-chairs, plenty of cushions, and 
there was a handsome buffet on which was a liberal dis- 
play of silver. The carpet was of scarlet velvet, with 
scarlet and gold border. The woodwork of costly polished 
woods was set with exquisitely-painted panelings, repre- 
senting bits of wild scenery on the Irish, Welsh, and 
Scottish coasts. There was a book-case filled with choice 
works of history, poetry, and fiction, and various other 
articles of comfort and luxury were scattered about 
lavishly. 

The table was spread with a delicious little supper, 
and a tall steward was in readiness to wait upon the 
guests. 

As Hellene looked about her, feeling as if she were in 
the midst of a dream, the door of one of the state-rooms 
opened, and an elderly woman of lady-like appearance, 
and dressed in deep black, emerged and came forward 
to meet the new arrivals. 

‘‘Miss Clair,” said Lord Ronald, “ this is Mrs. Bliss, 
an English lady, and a curate’s widow, who has kindly 
consented to matronize you while you remain in my 
charge.” 

Mrs. Bliss bowed politely, but Hellene held out her 
hand with a pretty impulsiveness that won the lady’s 
heart. 

“ Would you like to see your room before supper, Miss 
Clair?” asked Mrs. Bliss, in a low, quiet voice. “You 
can examine it while Lord Ronald is having his wounded 
hands attended to by the steward,” she added, with a 
glance at the young lord’s hands. 

Hellene assented, and was conducted by Mrs. Bliss to 
the state-room that had been prepared for the young 
lady’s occupancy, Letty following. 

It was of unusually large proportions, was carpeted 


318 


THE EARL DANGEROUSLY NEAR. 


with pale blue velvet, and funished with a low, wide sofa ; 
an unusually wide berth ; curtains at the window ; pic- 
tures ; the daintiest of white linen and blue silk bed-cover- 
ing ; great frilled pillows ; and a toilet-stand fitted up with 
all toilet appurtenances, including perfumeries, toilet- 
vinegars, dainty soaps, ivory-backed brushes, and other 
delightful luxuries. 

Across a narrow passage was a maid’s room, which 
Letty took possession of with satisfaction. 

By the time Hellene had investigated and duly praised 
her new quarters, Lord Ronald’s hands had been cared 
for, and his toilet had received attention. 

“ It seems all a dream,” said Hellene, as the lovers at 
last took their places at the table, and were waited upon 
by the attentive and silent steward. “ I have a hundred 
questions to ask you, Ronald. I hardly know where to 
commence. But, first of all, what vessel is this ?” 

“The Will o' the Wisp,oi the Royal Yacht Squadron,” 
answered Lord Ronald. 

“ To whom does she belong ?” 

“To Lord Canby, a particular friend of mine,” re- 
plied the young lord. “ He has very kindly placed the 
vessel and all its contents at my disposal for the very 
purpose I now have in hand — namely, your rescue from 
your enemies.” 

“ But where did you encounter Lord Canby ? How 
did you discover where I was imprisoned ? How did 
you know even that I was in France?” asked Hellene. 
“ I know now that the letters I wrote to you were inter- 
cepted.” 

“ I have received no letters from you since you left 
Charlewick-le-Grand,” said Lord Ronald. “I discov- 
ered that you had been seen in Paris, and I came over 
the other day hoping to find you there. From certain 
indications, I conceived suspicions of the fidelity of my 


THE EARL DANGEROUSLY NEAR. 319 

valet, who is John Diggs of Little Charlewick — you may 
remember the Diggs family. Mrs. Diggs was the Span- 
ish maid of the mother of the present Earl of Charle- 
wick, and I have reason to believe that John, despite his 
professions of attachment to me, is in the pay of the 
earl. I sent him back to England upon the very day of 
our arrival in France — by the return mail train, in fact — 
ostensibly upon a mission to a friend, and determined 
to continue my search for you alone. Upon the very 
day of my arrival, then in Paris, almost directly after I 
had rid myself of Diggs, I encountered Lord Canby at 
Gallignani’s. He was stopping at the Hotel Maurice 
with Lady Canby, her ladyship’s companion, Mrs. Bliss, 
and a retinue of servants. They were intending to go 
to Vichy for a fortnight and then to the Pyrenees 
They had been to Norway in their own yacht, which 
now lay off Cheroburg, and later in the season they in- 
tended to traverse the Mediterranean in her. Canby 
was a very dear old friend of mine. We were together 
at the University, and were always considered a second 
edition of Damon and Pythias. Of course Canby was 
full of sympathy at my loss of my grandfather, and at 
the adversity that has fallen upon me, and equally, of 
course, I have told him all my story. His indignation 
was beyond bounds. It was well that I told him all, for 
no man in the world could have given me more prompt 
and generous assistance. And it so happened that he 
could place in my hands the clue to your retreat.” 

“ How could he know where I was !” asked Hellene, 
wonderingly. “ I never knew that we were to go to La 
Tour de St. Pierre until we arrived at our journey’s end. 
I was kept in the dark from the first, and I know that 
my father and the earl were secret as the grave.” 

“ They were, Hellene; but the Count de St. Pierre 
was also an acquaintance, it seems of Canby. He had 


320 


THE EARL DANGEROUSLY NEAR. 


encountered Canby the day previous to my arrival in 
Paris, and had asked Lord Canby down to his chateau 
in the hunting season, saying that he should have a de- 
lightful party, including a couple of English noblemen, 
Lord Clair and the Earl of Charlewick. Lord Canby 
and the French count adjourned to a cafe in the Palais 
Royale, and over his absinthe the count boasted of his 
extensive English acquaintance, and stated that a noble 
English family was even now at his chateau, enjoying 
the grandeurs of his ancestral home. Lord Canby re- 
peated this statement to me. I was shrewd enough to 
suspect the truth. Canby shared my suspicions, and 
begged to assist me as far as was in his power. The 
rest was simple enough. Canby telegraphed to the 
master of his yacht, ordering him to report to me at a 
village twenty miles up the coast above La Tour de St. 
Pierre, and his lordship gave me a letter to the captain 
which placed vessel and men under my orders.” 

“ I begin to understand,” said Hellene. “ But you did 
not know beyond all doubt that I was at the count’s 
chateau until this evening.” 

“No, I could not be sure that you were until I saw 
your face at the tower-window far up against the light 
background. I picked up the little Tyrolean in Paris, 
and procured a costume suitable for my part, and came 
on to meet the yacht at the rendezvous appointed. Mrs. 
Bliss, at Lady Canby’s own request, accompanied me to 
matronize you. I placed her on board the vessel, had a 
long conference with the captain, and then went ashore 
with my little Tyrolean. We hired a French charette 
and drove to the fishing-hamlet nearest the chateau. 
We walked thence to the chateau, and played our part 
as we had previously arranged. You know the rest.” 

“ Not all,” said Hellene. “ But I can guess that you 


THE EARL DANGEROUSLY NEAR. 


321 


harried down through the wood, and went to the ham- 
and found there the yacht — ” 

“ Not exactly, dear. I did go to the hamlet, and left 
my young Tyrolean there. He is on his way back up 
the country in the charette, with a good sum of money 
in his pocket. I hired at the hamlet a little fishing- 
smack, which conveyed me six or eight miles up the 
coast where the yacht was lying. I returned in her. I 
made myself acquainted in Paris with the situation of 
the chateau. I learned that the old feudal tower was 
situated on a jutting rock overhanging the channel. I 
knew that if you were a prisoner, as I feared, that you 
would be confined in the tower. So I procured the fire- 
escapes in Paris. It was well I did, for in no other way 
could I have effected your rescue.” 

There was a brief silence, during which the two fin- 
ished their supper. 

“It is very still on deck,” then said Hellene. “ I won- 
der if the earl’s vessel is still in pursuit.” 

“ We will go up and see,” replied Lord Ronald. 
“ Letty, an extra shawl, please, for Miss Clair.” 

Letty looked dismayed, having brought no extra shawl 
for her young mistress, but Mrs. Bliss brought from Hel- 
lene’s state-room an Indian cashmere, and folded it 
about the girl’s slender figure, saying : 

“ Lady Canby sent a supply of clothing to you, Miss 
Clair, with her compliments, begging you to make free 
use of it. She feared that you would not be able to 
bring away your own clothing.” 

Hellene expressed her thanks, and taking Lord Ron- 
ald’s arm, ascended with him to the deck. 

The breeze was blowing from the right quarter. The 
yacht was scudding onward under a full press of sail. 
The gloom of the night had greatly lightened, and far 
or near Hellene could see nothing of the pursuer. 


322 


THE EARL DANGEROUSLY NEAR. 


“ We have escaped !” she cried. “ We have outrun 
them !” 

The skipper, who was pacing to and fro on the deck, 
and who chanced to be near at the moment, pointed to 
a white gleam in the dim distance, and said: 

“ There she is, Miss Clair, coming after us under a 
cloud of sail. She’s a better sailor than I thought, but 
we’ll shake her off in an hour or more. She won’t make 
much by chasing the Will o' the Wisp." 

He raised his hat and walked on. 

“Does the earl own the vessel, Ronald ?” asked Hel- 
lene. “ Do you know how he came to have her at the 
chateau ?” 

“ He does not own her. Our captain says the earl 
was up at Cherbourg lately, and made inquiries for a 
yacht. He found this one, and succeeded in chartering 
her. He said that he was summering on the coast and 
found it dull, and would like to be able to make excur- 
sions to the channel islands, and even to England at 
pleasure. The fact that a signal gun was fired and rock- 
ets sent up from his yacht when you were seen to be 
attempting escape, shows that the earl, through excess 
of prudence, had placed his yacht to guard the tower 
and its prisoner.” 

Hellene’s mind now reverted to her former perplex- 
ities and anxieties. 

“I have been locked up for weeks in that lonely 
tower,” she said, shuddering. “ My father said that he 
would never release me until I should consent to marry 
the earl. Of course I could not consent. Letty shared 
my imprisonment. All our food for weeks has been 
black bread, sour wine, and watercresses. But my deep- 
est anxieties were about you, dear Ronald. The earl 
said that he had given you a sum of money to relin- 
quish my hand and to leave England, and that you had 


THE EARL DANGEROUSLY NEAR. 


323 


accepted his terms, and had stolen away secretly to 
Australia without settling with your creditors. And he 
showed me a hand-bill advertising your disappearance, 
and notices in newspapers referring to your absence. I 
feared that he had secretly harmed you.” 

“ It is not owing to any kindness on his part that I am 
now alive,” said Lord Ronald, gravely. “As to evading 
my creditors, I have no creditors. You may wonder 
that I should have been so prompt and thorough in my 
plans to rescue you before even ascertaining the amount 
of your peril. I knew the demon nature of the earl, 
Hellene. Your father is plastic as wax in his hands. I 
knew that the earl had set his heart on marrying you, 
and that he would stop at no obstacle in his path. And 
so I came prepared for the desperate move I have this 
night made.” 

Then he told her of all that he had suffered at his 
uncle’s hands — of the attempted murder in Charlewick 
Park, and his rescue by Hartson — of his long illness — of 
his entrapment into the villa at Hackney, and his long 
imprisonment there — and concluded : 

“You see, Hellene, that the Earl of Charlewick is an 
incarnate demon who would even stoop to murder. Do 
you wonder that I feared for you ? I have had many 
wild apprehensions, but, thank God, they are past. 
Your father has proved himself an unfaithful guardian, 
and the most highly-strained sense of duty cannot impel 
you to remain under his charge. He is but the instru- 
ment of the Earl of Charlewick’s evil will.” 

“ But where am I to go, Ronald ?” asked Hellene. 
“ Where are you taking me ?” 

“To England, darling — then to Scotland. I am going 
to take you to Storm Castle and to your great-great- 
grandmother, Mrs. Vavasour. I shall appeal to her to 
protect you. She hates Lord Clair — she is a woman 


324 : 


THE EARL DANGEROUSLY NEAR. 


of strong antipathies — and she never forgave your mother 
for marrying him. I think she will delight in annoying 
your father, and will gladly assume charge of you. Lord 
Clair will not think of looking for you there. Then I 
shall have Hartson make proper application in your 
name for a new guardian for you.” 

Hellene drew a sigh of relief. 

“ Mrs. Bliss will attend you to Mrs. Vavasour’s very 
presence,” continued Lord Ronald. “The most censor- 
ious person cannot cavil at this journey of yours since 
Mrs. Bliss is with you. Not all the malignity of the 
Earl of Charlewick can avail to throw a sinister light 
upon your flight from your father. Lady Canby has 
taken good care of that. But that her health was in- 
firm she would have come to chaperon you herself.” 

“ You have been very thoughtful, Ronald,” said Hel- 
lene, gratefully. “ I fear my grandmother will not re- 
ceive me ; but as she is my only living relative, I will 
go to her. You will go with me to Storm Castle, will 
you not ?” 

“Yes. I shall not leave you until I place you in Mrs. 
Vavasour’s charge. We are to make a quiet landing 
on the south coast of England, and to proceed to Scot- 
land by the swiftest express. It may even be advisable 
to make the land journey in disguise, for you know that 
I may be arrested by my*enemies for abduction, if they 
can prove that I took you away from the chateau, and 
the abduction of an heiress is visited in England, with 
severe penalties,” said Lord Ronald, smiling, yet with 
bitterness. 

“ We are not caught yet,” said Hellene, “ and we shall 
not be. But, Ronald, is not the wind changing ?” 

The sailors were busy with the sails, and the captain 
was giving orders in energetic tones. Presently the 


TROUBLE AHEAD. 


325 


commander strolled toward the lovers, and, raising his 
hat, said : 

“ The wind is changing, and I’m inclined to think that 
little shark of a Frenchman is a better sailor close- 
hauled than we are. She seems to be gaining on us in 
the last few minutes.” 

Lord Ronald and Hellene looked eagerly in the di- 
rection in which they had last seen the pursuer. There 
she was in the far distance, but certainly she was more 
distinct than before. Beyond all doubt she was gaining 
on the yacht. 

“ If this wind holds,” said the captain, “ she is certain 
to overtake us. It’s likely to turn out a bad business, I 
fear, my lord — a bad business !” 


CHAPTER XXX. 

TROUBLE AHEAD. 

Old Mrs. Vavasour, having dispatched the two mes- 
sengers from Storm Castle upon their separate errands, 
lapsed into a gloom so deep and terrible that even our 
brave little Edda shrank away from her in something 
like alarm. The centenarian knitted her white brows 
fiercely, and worked her nose and chin convulsively till 
they seemed to meet and separate mechanically. Her 
breath came quick and hard, and she seemed to be mur- 
muring invectives to herself. 

Miss Cameron, thoroughly frightened at the malignant 
and witch-like aspect of her hostess, broke forth into a 
fit of hysterics, crying out that she was insulted ; that 
Dugald Vavasour might marry whom he pleased, for 


326 


TROUBLE AHEAD. 


she would never look at him, no, not if he got down 
upon his knees to her ; that she had refused the best 
matches in the shire for him, and now — and now — 

The centenarian turned her small, hard eyes upon her 
guest as Miss Cameron’s voice rose to a shriek, and that 
young lady felt a thrill of keener terror as she marked 
the fierceness of those orbs. But Mrs. Vavasour did not 
speak, and under her awe-inspiring gaze Miss Cameron 
hushed her cries, and became silent and sullen. 

Presently the tall butler solemnly announced that 
dinner waited. His pleading gaze at his aged mistress 
showed that he had learned the cause of the recent dis- 
turbance, and that he would fain implore the venerable 
lady to forgive her descendant and receive him home 
again. 

To Edda’s surprise Mrs. Vavasour arose, and, leaning 
heavily upon her staff, led the way to the dining-hall, 
Miss Cameron walking behind her, and Edda bringing 
up the rear. The old lady possessed a most indomitable 
pride, and she made the effort to eat her dinner as usual. 
But her strength of will could not command an appetite, 
and she trifled with her food, not eating, and was so 
grim and terrible in her rigid countenance that a chill 
gloom overspread her young companions, and they could 
not shake it off. 

Edda’s appetite was gone, but it was not altogether 
because of fear. Her heart was full of a joy too great 
for words. Her lover was still her hero. He had been 
tried and not found wanting. He was true to his con- 
victions of honor and right, and true to her, even when 
such constancy was at the cost of his rightful inheritance. 
And so, although she mourned that he must lose wealth, 
home, and the love and favor of his ancestress, she was 
yet proud of him, and not at all miserable. 

“I suppose my early training was to fit me to become 


TROUBLE AHEAD. 


327 


a poor man’s wife,” she thought. “And yet, when he 
knows all the truth, will Dugald want me ?” 

The question remained to be answered. 

Miss Cameron was the only one at the table who was 
able to do justice to the unusually fine banquet that had 
been gotten up in honor of the return of the prodigal. 
She possessed one of those calm, even, wooden sort of 
temperaments that are never greatly affected by any 
trouble. The mercury of her disposition never ascended 
very high, nor descended very low. Having given ex- 
pression to her sentiments in violent hysterics, and thus 
shown that she was aware of what was due to the heiress 
of the Camerons, she proceeded to do full justice to soup, 
fish, roasts, game, entrees and entremets, pastry and dessert, 
coffee and wine, pursuing her industry in sullen silence. 

After dinner Mrs. Vavasour arose heavily, and clattered 
back to the drawing-room. 

“ Shall I play for you, madam ?” asked Edda, her 
venerable employer usually requiring music after 
dinner. 

The old lady glared at her. 

“ Music !” said Mrs. Vavasour, fiercely ; “ music ! 

How dare you talk of music to me? Do I look in the 
humor for music ?” 

Assuredly she did not. 

She arose with an air of offended majesty, and with 
the aid of her staff walked toward the door. Just at the 
portal she paused, addressing Miss Cameron in these 
words : 

“ Far be it from me, Gretta, to put such a slight upon 
you as has this day been put upon you. Dugald Vava- 
sour shall rue his folly and madness to the last day of 
his life. I will make reparation to you for what you 
have suffered at his hands. I pray you to excuse me for 
this evening — I am tired and weak — but to morrow I 


328 


TKOUBLE AHEAD. 


shall have much to say to you. I bid you good-even- 
ing.” . 

With a stately bow to Miss Cameron, and another not 
less stately to Edda, Mrs. Vavasour went out, closing 
the door behind her. 

The venerable lady’s private apartments had for many 
years been upon the ground floor of the castle. She 
proceeded toward them now with a face of gloom. 
Crossing the staircase hall, and the great baronial hall 
which has been described to the reader, she entered a 
passage between parlors and library, and passed to the 
wing which was devoted to her own special use. 

Here were her boudoir, her bedroom, dressing-room, 
bath-room, all adjoining. In the first-named apart- 
ment she was wont to spend many hours daily, with 
Edda as her sole companion. She avoided it now, turn- 
ing into the second apartment of the suite, -which was 
her dressing-room. 

The August night was chilly upon the mountain-top, 
and the old stone castle was full of damps and lurking 
chills. In this room, at all seasons of the year, a wood- 
fire blazed on the great hearth, with back-log and fore- 
log, dispensing a genial warmth and radiance. There 
was a great sleepy-hollow of a chair drawn up before 
the hearth. The venerable lady tottered toward it, sank 
into it, and stretched out her bony hands with their big ' 
knuckles and joints, and thin, claw-like fingers to the 
blaze. 

“ It’s cold !” she muttered. “I’m chilled to my very 
soul !” 

She bent over the fire, as if muttering incantations, 
and the grim, hard face grew grimmer and harder, and 
her proud, fierce will grew prouder and fiercer with 
every moment. 

She sat thus an hour or more alone. Then the door 


* TROUBLE AHEAD. 


329 


opened and her maid came in, with a tray on which was 
a bowl of steaming hot negus. 

The maid, as Mrs. VavasOur had said, had lived with 
the old lady for forty years. She was a hard-featured 
Scotswoman, with hay-colored hair and eyes, but she 
was a faithful soul, devoted to her mistress, whom she 
almost worshipped. Only one being was dearer to old 
Margery than Mrs. Vavasour, and that one was Dugald 
the disinherited. 

“They told me that you had come to your rooms, my 
leddy,” said the woman, in a strong Scottish accent, 
which we will not attempt to depict. “And so I’ve 
brewed for you a good bowl of negus. Will you take it 
now, my leddy ?” 

“ No,” was the laconic answer. “ Let me alone.” 

“Yes, my leddy,” responded Margery, with a look of 
anxiety, approaching her mistress. “ But you look cold, 
my leddy. Ju$t taste the negus for Margery’s sake.” 

The venerable lady turned her fierce eyes, burning 
under their heavy white brows, like red fires in caves of 
snow, upon her maid, and ejaculated : 

“ Will you not let me alone ? Ah, Margery, forgive 
me. You mean well, I know, poor, faithful soul. Give 
me the negus.” 

She took the bowl in her trembling hands and drank 
a good portion of its contents. Then she gave back the 
dish, and leaning her elbows on her knees, propped up 
her shriveled face upon her hands. 

Margery hovered about, like a hen over her chickens. 
She knew that she possessed a certain amount of influ- 
ence with her mistress, and she felt impelled by a sense 
of duty to speak certain words to her. She tried to 
think of appropriate phrases and cautious turns of 
speech, but forgetting them all, she came and knelt down 
by Mrs. Vavasour presently, and began to sob aloud : 


330 


TROUBLE AHEAD. 


“What ails the creature?” said Mrs. Vavasour. 
“ Have you gone clean daft, Margery ?” 

“ Oh, my leddy, my leddy,” sobbed the waiting-woman. 
“ I’ve heard sair news the night. I was in the kitchen 
when the ministers servant came, and oh, he says that 
Master Dugald is down at the manse. Think of that, 
my leddy. The heir of the castle sheltered by the hum- 
ble roof of the manse — a stranger to his ain ! The night 
is clear. Perhaps he stands at this moment in the manse 
garden, and looks up at the proud castle where he spent 
all his life till one year ago — ” 

The old lady’s stern lips twitched nervously. 

“ Let him look !” she muttered. “ The sight should 
tantalize him, since he has lost his heritage.” 

“ Oh, my leddy,” pleaded Margery, her eyes stream- 
ing, “ do not say that he has lost it. My bonnie laddie ! 
Oh, my leddy, he was the noblest, fairest boy in all Scot- 
land ! And the minister’s servant says that he is thin 
and k>oks worn with sorrow ; that he has worked hard 
to earn his wee bit parritch — he that should be the rich- 
est man in Scotland. And oh, my leddy, the minister’s 
servant listened at the door — who would not listen when 
our young Master Dugald speaks — and he heard Master 
Dugald tell the minister that he had fresh trouble of 
late that he could not speak of ; that he was sorrowfu 
to be at war with you, and that he longed to make 
friends with you again. But he could not marry Miss 
Cameron.” 

“ So he let me know. He could take my money, but 
he could not do my will.” 

“ Small blame to him for not wanting to marry Miss 
Cameron — the nasty cat !” cried Margery. “ To think 
of her setting up to be Mr. Dugald’s mate ! It’s she 
that’s made all the trouble. Oh, my leddy, to turn off 
your ain for her ! Think of him, the wee laddie, left 


TROUBLE AHEAD. 


331 


mitherless at his birth. You took him to your bosom 
then, my leddy, and he loved you as if you were his ain 
mither. But the heart he clung to turned cold to him. 
It was not a mither’s heart,” moaned Margery. “Oh, 
my leddy, forgive him and take him back again.” 

“ Have you seen him ?” 

“ No, but my eyes long to behold him,” said the wo- 
man, weeping. “ And I am not of kin to him, my bonny 
laddie.” 

“ You talk as if you were in his pay,” sneered the ven- 
erable mistress of Storm Castle. “ No more of this. I 
do not want to hear his hated name again.” 

“ One word, my leddy. Is it true that you have sent 
to the lawyer to come and make your will ?” cried Mar- 
gery, desperately. 

“Yes. So it’s all through the household, is it? And 
twenty gabbling tongues are talking about my future 
heir?” 

“ Shall you leave your fortune away from Master 
Dugald, my leddy ?” asked the woman, breathlessly. 

“ Of course I shall. Am I one to threaten and not 
perform ?” asked Mrs. Vavasour, grimly. “ I shall be- 
queath the Vavasour money to charities.” 

“And Ben Storm ? And the castle ?” 

“ Shall go to Miss Cameron, whom Dugald has so 
basely insulted,” said the old lady, setting her shriveled 
lips together. “ I said once that Margaret Cameron 
should be mistress of Storm Castle when I am gone. I 
meant Dugald*to be master; but since he will not share 
the property with her, she shall have it alone. The 
estate of Ben Storm shall be united to that of Glen Cam- 
eron, as I have said.” 

“ But to turn out Master Dugald for that cat — ” 

“That cat is to be your future mistress. Be careful 
how you speak of her, or she may send you adrift, 


332 


TROUBLE AHEAD. 


Margery. ’Tisn’t every one would bear with your plain 
speaking as I have done.” 

“But, my leddy, Miss Cameron has no claims upon 
you. She is not of your blood. She is heiress of Glen 
Cameron. There is one akin to you who should come 
before Miss Cameron or any stranger.” 

“And who is that?” 

“ Miss Hellene Clair, daughter of our Miss Hellene 
— Lady Clair,” responded Margery. 

A look of disgust mantled the fiercely angry face of 
the centenarian. 

“ What, leave my money to a Clair !” she exclaimed. 
‘ You must be mad ! I hate the Clairs, root and branch. 
When my great-granddaughter, Hellene Vavasour, chose 
to marry Lord Clair, I disowned her for her wilfulness. 
Her child is nothing to me. She shall never have one 
penny of mine — but she has her mother’s great fortune 
— she shall never come under my roof — she shall never 
be aught more to me than the child of my enemies. The 
Clair blood is bad blood, and Lord Clair is a villain. 
After winning Hellene he broke her heart. Don’t speak 
the name of Hellene Clair to me again.” 

Old Margery sighed. 

“But, my leddy, Mr. Dugald — ” 

“ No more !” cried the old lady, imperiously. “I will 
be obeyed. Put me to bed. I am faint and weak. Ah, 
I am alone in my old-age — all alone !” 

Despite her grief and anger, the old woman patiently 
undressed her vindictive mistress, and put her to bed in 
the lofty old-fashioned high-canopied bed in the room 
adjoining, where also a wood fire burned cheerily on the 
hearth. Then old Margery went to the window and 
looked out into the night, weeping softly. 

“ It’s not so light as it was,” she said to herself. 
“ The road to Kirkfaldy is dangerous. Would it be 


MISS CAMERON SHOWS HER REAL NATURE. 


333 


wrong to pray that some accident might happen the mes- 
senger or his horse, so that the lawyer should not come? 
God forgive me for my wickedness ! And yet I believe 
that Satan has hardened the heart of my leddy against 
her own grandson, just as Pharaoh’s heart was hardened 
against the Jews in Egypt. I know that she fairly wor- 
ships Master Dugald — that her heart aches to see him — 
but that her awful pride will make her disinherit him 
and give his heritage to his enemy. Oh, it’s a dark day 
for Ben Storm ! My poor young master — I wonder 
what his newest troubles are. Ah, there’s sair trouble 
ahead for us all !” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

MISS CAMERON SHOWS HER REAL NATURE. 

Upon the morning subsequent to the scenes narrated 
in the preceding chapter, the aged lady of Storm Castle 
found herself too weak and ill to rise from her bed. 
The storm of fury and anger through which her soul 
had passed as through a frightful tempest had left its 
effects upon her. She was like some old and half-de- 
cayed tree that has been felled nearly prostrate by the 
winds, and it remained to see if enough of vitality 
remained in her to right herself — to carry out the meta- 
phor — or if the shock had been too terrible to admit of 
recovery. 

At day-break her serving-woman, Margery, des- 
patched one of the stablemen on horseback to Brae 
Town for Mrs. Vavasour’s family physician. He was at 


334 MISS CAMERON SHOWS HER REAL NATURE. 

the castle by nine o’clock, and was immediately admit- 
ted into the centenarian’s bed-chamber. 

The aged mistress of the castle lay upon her white 
pillows, with her white satin coverlet drawn over her, 
and with filmy laces and dainty frills all around her, a 
thin, yellow, shriveled creature, with heavy-lidded eyes 
close-shut, with long, thick, white lashes lying on her 
parchment-like cheek, with shaggy and fierce white 
brows, which looked fiercer than ever, the face being so 
still, and with her long bushy white hair straying out of 
the confinement of her night-cap. She looked so old 
and withered that one would even think her dying; but 
the good doctor felt her pulse, and knew that the vital 
principle was still strong within that ancient frame. 

“ She is weak from over-excitement, Margery,” said 
the doctor, in a low voice. “You must not allow her 
to get excited. I’ve told you that a hundred times.” 

“ But how can I prevent it ?” demanded Margery. 
“ You don’t know my leddy. She is mistress here, Doc- 
tor, and will be mistress to the end.” 

“Ay, that she will !” said the centenarian, opening 
her fierce black eyes with a suddenness that startled the 
doctor. “ I am mistress here till I die, and I know who 
shall be mistress after me.” 

“ My dear lady,” began the doctor, in a tone of ex- 
postulation, “ no excitement now — not a bit of it. Here 
are some soothing drops for you. You want to be 
cheerful and throw aside all anxieties about everything. 
You know that you are very old, my dear friend, and if 
you desire to prolong your life you must be calm and 
quiet.” 

The aged lady repressed all rebelliousness and excite- 
ment with an effort of her iron will. 

“ I am calm,” she affirmed. “ Give me the drops. 
Now go away and leave me alone.” 


MISS CAMERON SHOWS HER REAL NATURE. 


335 


“ No, no,” said the physician, cheerfully. “ You need 
cheering up and entertaining. Some one must remain 
with you and read to you, and draw your thoughts away 
from unpleasant subjects. Have you a companion now, 
madam ?” 

“Yes, a slip of a girl,” said Mrs. Vavasour. “But I 
don’t want entertaining now ; I only want to be let 
alone.” 

“Miss Cameron of Glen Cameron is here at present, 
I understand,” said the physician, good-humoredly. 
“ Have her, and your slip of a companion in to sit with 
you. Their chatter will do you good.” 

The centenarian fixed her cold, hard, bright eyes upon 
her old physician in a piercing gaze. 

“ Doctor,” she said, “ you don’t ask what is the matter 
of me. Do you know ?” 

“Yes, I know,” said the doctor. 

“ Humph ! Who told you ?” 

“Can I not see for myself?” asked the physician, cau- 
tiously. “ All the servants at the castle know your 
business as well as yourself. The messenger you sent 
for me knew it.” 

“ And you’ve been to Brae Manse,” declared the aged 
lady, bitterly. “ Don’t deny it. I know you have. Do 
I forget that Dugald Vavasour was your idol, Doctor ?” 

“ As he once was yours, madam,” replied the physician, 
gravely. “ I have seen Dugald, my dear old friend, and 
if you would only be prevailed upon to see him also, I 
am sure that his bonny face would move your heart. 
He has gro ji nobler and manlier through his struggle 
with the world — ’ 

“ And has nor los.. any of his old obstinacy and self- 
will. You know be message he sent me? But say no 
more to me of hi , Doctor. I am surprised that you 
should excite me by I ie mention of his name when I 


336 MISS CAMERON SHOWS HER REAL NATURE. 

ought to be kept quiet,” said the old lady, satirically. 
“ One thing I enjoin upon you as you- value my favor. 
Never speak Dugald’s name to me again. I have disin- 
herited him, and Miss Cameron will be my heiress. I 
am going to sleep.” 

She turned her face to the wall abruptly and closed 
her eyes. With a sigh, the good old family physician 
passed into the dressing-room, whither ojd Margery fol- 
lowed him. 

“ Doctor, do you think my mistress will die ?” asked 
the serving-woman, in an anxious whisper. 

The doctor was standing before the fire, looking in- 
tently at the blazing logs. 

“ No,” he answered. “ She’s beaten down by the storm 
of wrath she’s indulged in ; she’s weak and exhausted ; 
but there’s a wondrous vitality still in her withered 
frame. I sometimes think she’ll outlive us all yet, Mar- 
gery. And yet she may drop off suddenly in one of her 
tempests of passion. It’s a sad case, Margery, a sad 
case. She’s actually pining at heart for Dugald, and 
she’ll wrong him out of his inheritance, all through her 
wicked vindictiveness and self-will.” 

“ And that cat, Miss Cameron, is to be mistress of 
Storm Castle,” said Margery, drearily. “ I think, Doc- 
tor, if Master Dugald would only come to see Madam, 
she might relent. But he’s too proud to come and sue 
to her, lest she accuse him of flattering her to gain her 
wealth. If I could leave my mistress, I would go down 
to Brae Manse to see the young master, and so would 
Mrs. Macray. Please tell him so, Doctor, and that we 
two old women must see him before he goes away 
again.” 

The doctor promised to conve the message, and 
said : 

“I am not needed here. Mrs Vavasour, with her 


MISS CAMERON SHOWS HER REAL NATURE. 337 


energy, will be up and dressed by afternoon. Here are 
drops to give her. Keep her quiet, Margery — that’s the 
chief point.” 

The physician soon after took his leave, and set out 
on his return down the mountain, mounted upon his 
rough Highland pony. 

Mrs. Vavasour dropped asleep, not awakening until 
noon. 

A bowl of hot mulled wine, the wing of a chicken, and 
other dainty edibles, were then placed before her upon 
a silver tray, on a stand by her beside, and she ate 
heartily. When she had finished eating, she arose and 
commanded Margery, with all her old imperiousness, to 
dress her. 

“My lawyer will be here this evening,” she said, “ so 
dress me handsomely, Margery. I want to look my best. 
Dugald may try to break my will when I am gone, and 
it behooves me to see to it that I leave not one point 
upon which he can base a plea that I was of unsound 
mind.” 

Old Margery obeyed the injunction, and Mrs. Vavasour 
had never appeared to better advantage within twenty 
years than when she stood before her mirror, and glanced 
at her reflection with critical eyes. 

She was attired in heavy purple velvet, made with a 
court train and trimmed with magnificent laces, and 
wore a fortune in diamonds. Her white hair was 
arranged in high puffs, and ornamented with a bandeau 
of brilliants. An Indian shawl of purplish scarlet, heavily 
embroidered in thread of spun gold, was drawn about her 
withered stooping figure, and the yellow hands that 
clasped her staff were nearly covered with gems. 

“ I look like an Indian begum,” said the old lady, with 
an odd laugh, her fierce eyes sparkling. “ And I don’t 
look as if I were mounring over Dugald’s shortcomings 


338 MISS CAMERON SHOWS HER REAL NATURE. 


do I? I am sufficient unto myself, Margery — sufficient 
unto myself. And now, where is Miss Cameron ?” 

“ I don’t know, my leddy. Shall I send a servant to 
her, telling her to come to you ?” 

The centenarian frowned. 

“By no means,” she responded, sharply. “I am 
capable of giving my own orders yet, Margery. Has 
Miss Cameron been to my door to-day to inquire after 
me ?” 

“ No, my leddy, but her maid’s been here once or 
twice — the prying thing !” said the woman. 

“ Does Miss Cameron know my intentions in regard to 
her, Margery?” asked the old lady. 

“ I suppose it’s like she does, my leddy,” said the 
serving-woman, somewhat dryly. “ Every servant in the 
house is gossiping about your intentions, my leddy, and 
Miss Cameron’s maid is full of inquiries.” 

“ Has Miss Brend shown herself near my rooms this 
morning ?” 

“Yes, my leddy. She’s inquired after you often, bless 
her bonny face !” said old Margery. “ Miss Brend has 
a warm heart and a bright beauty of her own. I wish 
she were Miss Cameron. I’ll warrant Master Dugald 
wouldn’t be so reluctant to marry her.” 

“ Humph ! You always were a fool, Margery,” said 
the amiable old lady. “I suppose,” she added, “that 
lunch is over, and Miss Cameron is in the red drawing- 
room. She feels neglected, no doubt. I must see her, 
and inform her of my intentions in regard to her. I 
don’t want your attendance, Margery. I am not so old 
yet that I cannot go to the red drawing-room alone,” 
snapped Mrs. Vavasour. 

“ But, my leddy,” ventured Margery, “ Miss Cameron 
may not be there — ” 

“If she is not, I can ring the bell and send a servant 


MISS CAMERON" SHOWS HER REAL NATURE. 339 


with a message to her, can’t I ?” cried the lady of Storm 
Castle. “You are stupid, Margery. You’ll not make 
anything out of your dislike and opposition to Miss 
Cameron, I can tell you. Now open the door.” 

Margery obeyed, and the ancient dame, with the click 
of tiny boot-heels keeping time to the clicking of her 
staff, went out into the passage, and pursued her way to 
the red drawing-room. 

As it happened, Miss Cameron and Edda Brend were 
in that especial apartment. They did not hear the 
approach of Mrs. Vavasour, who, panting and weak, 
paused just outside the door to recover breath, and so 
chanced to become a listener to a conversation which 
was destined to put an entirely different face upon 
affairs, and cause her to change her resolution of mak- 
ing Miss Cameron her heiress. 

It had happened that Mrs. Vavasour’s guest and Edda 
had seen but little of each other during the day. They 
had eaten breakfast together in the delightful breakfast- 
room, both silent and thoughtful. Miss Cameron’s bear- 
ing toward the companion of her hostess had been su- 
percilious and haughty. She desired Edda to feel a 
social inferiority to herself, and was annoyed at Edda’s 
quiet self-possession and self-respect. 

Directly after breakfast, Miss Cameron had retired to- 
her own room and the companionship of her maid. 
Edda went several times to the door of Mrs. Vavasour’s 
dressing-room, making inquiries in regard to the old 
lady’s condition, of Margery ; and finally, hearing that 
her employer was asleep, the girl took a long stroll down 
the mountain side, being absent for hours. Perhaps 
she had hoped to meet Dugald Vavasour ; but if so, she 
had been disappointed. 

At luncheon Miss Cameron and Edda had the round 
table to themselves, The solemn-looking butler, with a 


340 MISS CAMERON SHOWS HER REAL NATURE. 

look of anxious grief upon his face, yet waited upon 
Miss Cameron with an increased respectfulness and assi- 
duity which were noticeable. The heiress seemed in 
peculiarly good spirits, and devoted herself to her re- 
past with even more than her usual zeal. 

After luncheon, Edda repaired to the red drawing- 
room — the usual sitting-room in the morning — and, 
somewhat to her surprise, Miss Cameron followed her. 

The two girls had scarcely settled themselves in the 
room when Mrs. Vavasour entered the hall, and the old 
lady halted at the door to recover herself just in time to 
catch Miss Cameron’s first noteworthy remark. 

“ You know, Miss Brend,” said the sandy-haired heir- 
ess, in an exultant voice, “ that Mrs. Vavasour has sent 
for her lawyer, McKay, of Kirkfaldy, and that she ex- 
pects him to arrive at Storm Castle to-night ? You 
know, too, that she has vowed to disinherit Dugald Vava- 
sour ? Now whom, think you, will she make her heir ?” 

“ I don’t know,” answered Edda. “ She ought to 
leave all that she has to her descendant, and I have faith 
in her sense of justice that she will do so yet.” 

Miss Cameron frowned. 

“ Your faith is misplaced,” she sneered. “ Mrs. Vava- 
sour will not leave one farthing to Dugald Vavasour, 
and I’m glad of it. What right has he to scorn me, the 
heiress of the Camerons ? My blood is as good as his, 
but he refused to marry me, and left his home, and gave 
up all his grand prospects rather than to marry me, as if 
I had been a Gorgon or a Medusa. I don’t know 
whether I hate him or love him, but I do know that I 
long to be revenged upon him. The servants are gossip- 
ing through the house. Mrs. Vavasour has announced 
the name of her chosen heir, and who do you think it 


MISS CAMERON SHOWS HER REAL NATURE. 341 

“ I don’t know,” again said Edda, adding, coldly, “ I 
never gossip with servants.” 

Miss Cameron glared at the young companion. 

“ I do !” she said, emphatically. “ It would be better 
for you, Miss Brend, if you knew your place better. 
You’ll not stay long at Storm Castle. Mrs. Vavasour 
will make her will to-night, and I am to be her heiress — 
I, Miss Brend. I shall be mistress here in spite of 
Dugald Vavasour. I wish I might live to see him crawl- 
ing a beggar to this door that I might have him thrust 
forth by the servants. Ah, that would be a glorious 
revenge for his contempt of me !” 

“ I trust it will be many years before you come into 
your inheritance, Miss Cameron,” said Edda. 

“You hope so ? No doubt. But it won’t be years, 
nor months, nor days,” said Miss Cameron, with coarse 
triumph. “ It may not even be hours. My maid has 
been to Mrs. Vavasour’s rooms several times to-day in- 
quire after the old lady, and once she peeped in through 
the dressing-room into the bed-room, and caught a 
glimpse of the old woman herself. She said she looked 
to be dying, and was as shriveled and brown as an old 
mummy. She’ll live to make her will constituting me 
her heiress, but she’ll not live much longer. Why, she’s 
almost a hundred years old. I shouldn’t wonder if her 
vindictiveness kept her up just long enough to make the 
all-important will to-night, and if the old witch were 
found dead in her bed in the morning.” 

“ Miss Cameron,” said Edda, sternly, “ I cannot hear 
you call Mrs. Vavasour such a name — ” 

“ Oh, can’t you ? You are mighty sensitive, for a 
hired companion, Miss Brend. Perhaps you aspire to 
be remembered in her will ?” sneered Miss Cameron. 

“ Let me tell you that I shall call the old dotard what I 
please. At home we call her a witch, and a hundred 


342 MISS CAMERON SHOWS HER REAL NATURE. 

years ago I don’t doubt she’d have been hung for a 
witch. She’s a nasty, disagreeable old woman, and as 
long as she’s helpless in bed I dare say so to any one. 
By to-morrow night, I shall no doubt be absolute mis- 
tress here. I hope I shall be. Mrs. Vavasour has lived 
long enough. A century ! Who will regret her? I have 
sent my chariot home with a letter announcing that I 
am to be old Goody’s heiress. And as soon as I come 
into possession, Miss Impertinence, you will take your 
departure through the servants’ door. I wish — I wish 
that lawyer would hasten. I’m afraid the old thing will 
give me the slip and die before she can make her will,” 
added Miss Cameron, permitting her secret anxieties to 
manifest themselves. “ For fear that something would 
happen to the messenger sent last night, I have dis- 
patched a second messenger to the lawyer this morn- 
ing.” 

“ I had no idea that Mrs. Vavasour was so desperately 
ill,” cried Edda, overlooking the insults to herself in her 
anxieties for another. “Alone, with only Margery to 
wait upon her ! Poor old lady ! I must go to her. 
Perhaps I can do something for her. And if she is so 
ill, Mr. Vavasour must be sent for, that he may make 
his peace with her before she dies.” 

“You artful creature !” exclaimed Miss Cameron, in 
a passion. “I can see through your vile scheming. 
You’d like to have Mrs. Vavasour take her descendant 
back again and leave him her fortune, wouldn’t you ? 
And you’d like to get a legacy from her yourself? You 
need not send for Dugald Vavasour. If he comes, he 
will not be admitted. As Mrs. Vavasour’s heiress, I 
consider myself from this moment mistress of Storm 
Castle, and I shall act as mistress.” 

Then the door swung slowly open. Mrs. Vavasour, 
looking like a malignant witch indeed, with eyes of 


MISS CAMERON SHOWS HER REAL NATURE. 343 


flame and hooked nose convulsively touching her up- 
curved chin, stood revealed upon the threshold. 

The two girls stared amazed. Then Miss Cameron, 
having a ready wit, uttered a loud cry and bounded for- 
ward, exclaiming : 

“Oh, dear, dear, dearest grandmamma. They told me 
you were ill in bed ! Oh, what a delicious surprise ! I 
am so glad — so happy — ” 

She threw out her arms to embrace the aged mistress 
of the castle, but Mrs. Vavasour thrust out her staff, as 
if to ward off assault, and cried, in a terrible voice : 

“Back, viper! Do not touch me! Back, I say!” 
Miss Cameron retreated before the blazing eyes, the ma- 
lignant countenance, the frightful expression, and ex- 
perienced a thrill of unmistakable terror. 

“ Miss Brend,” said the centenarian, in a croaking 
voice, “ ring the bell.” 

Edda obeyed in silence. 

When the servant appeared, the aged lady said to him, 
calmly : 

“ Have the chariot made ready at once to convey Miss 
Cameron to Glen Cameron. And send some one to bid 
Miss Cameron’s maid pack her mistress’ trunk.” 

The servant wonderingly departed upon his errand. 

“ The carriage will be at the door within an hour, 
Miss Cameron,” continued Mrs. Vavasour, icily. “ I 
will excuse you if you desire to get ready for your de- 
parture.” 

Miss Cameron struggled with her terror. 

“ Oh, grandmamma, are you angry with me?” she fal- 
tered. “ What have I done ?” 

Miss Cameron forgets that I am not her kinswoman,” 
said Mrs. Vavasour. “ And as to the cause of my anger, 
let me tell you that I have stood outside this door dur- 
ing your entire conversation with Miss Brend. The ‘ old 


344 MISS CAMERON SHOWS HER REAL NATURE. 


witch’ is not dying, Miss Cameroh, nor is she in her 
dotage. And you are not mistress of Storm Castle, nor 
ever will be. Now go.” 

Miss Cameron’s cheeks flushed with mortification and 
wrath, and hot words sprang to her lips, but she dared 
not give utterance to them. The centenarian looked so 
like one of the Furies that the girl dared not provoke 
her further anger. 

“Iam going,” Miss Cameron said, her voice trem- 
bling. “ I don’t want your money nor castle, madam. 
I’m an heiress in my own right. I suppose you’ll have 
Dugald home now, and he’ll triumph over you after all,” 
said the young woman, shooting an envenomed arrow 
that went straight home. “ If it’s any comfort to you, 
let me tell you I alwa3 r s hated you,” she added, waxing 
bolder and edging toward the door from which Mrs. 
Vavasour had moved away. “ And you are an ugly 
old witch, and I’m not the only one who’ll be glad when 
you are dead.” 

Miss Cameron glided out at the open door, and hur- 
ried away to her apartments. 

“ Help me to my room, child,# said Mrs. Vavasour. 

Edda lent assistance, and the aged lady gained her 
own fire-lit boudoir. Margery administered soothing 
drops, and Mrs. Vavasour was presently no worse for 
her fierce yet brief excitement. Margery was dismissed, 
and Edda applied herself to calm and entertain her 
employer. 

About an hour later, the Vavasour chariot rolled out 
of the carriage porch, bearing Miss Cameron, her maid, 
her poodle, and her trunks. 

“ A good riddance !” said the centenarian, watching 
the chariot, as it began its descent of the mountain. 
“ I’ve done a good thing in finding her out. Now read 
to me, Miss Brend. I am too tired to talk.” 


MISS CAMERON SHOWS HER REAL NATURE. 345 

Edda read Scottish poems for an hour or more, when 
the old lady dropped asleep. She did not awaken until 
nearly evening, and was only aroused by the entrance 
of Margery, with a loaded tray. The serving-woman’s 
face was full of quiet gladness. The news had spread 
throughout the castle that Miss Cameron had been sent 
home in some sort of disgrace, and every one was 
rejoiced. 

“You look happy, Margery,” said Mrs. Vavasour, as 
she sipped her dish of tea. “ By the way, what was the 
name you applied to Miss Cameron this morning — the 
name for uttering which I reproved you ?” 

“ I called her a naisty cat, my leddy— ” 

“Very good, Margery,” said the old lady, calmly, 
“very good, indeed, and very appropriate. I retract my 
reproof, Margery.” 

“And you’ve sent her away, my leddy? the Lord be 
praised !” cried the waiting-woman. “ Surely now, my 
leddy, since you’ve found her out, you’ll send for Master 
Dugald to come home — ” 

“ Have I not told you never to utter that name again 
to me ?” demanded the mistress. “ It is not that he dis- 
liked Miss Cameron, but that he opposed his will against 
mine. That I never can forgive. Mr. Vavasour is not 
coming home. He will not be my heir. Let his name 
be no more uttered between us.” 

From this mandate there could be no appeal. 

Mrs. Vavasour finished her tea, and Edda sang and 
played for her for an hour or more. Dinner had been 
deferred until half-past seven o’clock, in the expectation 
of the lawyer’s arrival. Long before darkness had 
enshrouded the lonely castle on the mountain-top, the 
curtains were drawn in the great drawing-room, a 
wood-fire was burning on the hearths, forests of wax 
candles were lighted, and Mrs. Vavasour, in her stately 


346 


AN UNEXPECTED CRISIS. 


attire, and Edda, dressed in a long gown of pale pink 
tissue, and looking exquisitely lovely, were in waiting to 
receive the expected guest. 

About half-past six o’clock a wagon was heard rum- 
bling along the drive. A few minutes later, the solemn 
butler announced that the lawyer had arrived, and was 
gone to his own room to make a suitable toilet for din- 
ner. And half an hour later the door again opened, 
giving admittance to the new arrival, and the butler’s 
solemn voice announced : 

“ Mr. McKay of Kirkfaldy !” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

AN UNEXPECTED CRISIS. 

It did indeed seem as if the rescue of Hellene Clair 
were likely to turn out “a bad business” for those who 
had interested themselves in her fate. The French ves- 
sel, urged on by desperate men, with every stitch of can- 
vas set, breasting the wind gallantly, grew larger and 
larger upon the view of the fugitives. She continued to 
gain slowly but steadily. The captain of the Will-o'-the- 
Wisp began to grow apprehensive lest trouble should 
come to him or his vessel out of the affair. Lord Ron- 
ald Charlton was calm and smiling, although he knew 
he had most to fear should the yacht be overhauled by 
her pursuer. He knew that he would be arrested on 
charge of abducting an heiress from her father’s resi- 
dence, and he knew, too, that the wealth, rank and in- 
fluence of the Earl and of Lord Clair would be used to 
crush him, and that these qualities of his enemies would 


AN UNEXPECTED CRISIS. 


347 


prove a mighty lever to bring upon him his destruc- 
tion. 

Hellene was calm also, and brave. After her long im- 
prisonment in La Tour de St. Pierre, her spirits rose like 
mercury after a storm. To be free to walk about in 
the fresh air, under the open sky, to hear friendly voices, 
see friendly faces — all this was bliss to her. She paced 
the deck unwearily, clinging to her lover’s arm, and paus- 
ing now and then to look at the pursuing vessel. Mrs. 
Bliss, the lady who had consented to matronize the 
young girl during her flight, and Letty, the maid, occu- 
pied lounging steamer-chairs on the deck. 

“She’s gaining steadily,” said the captain, uneasily, 
“and when daylight comes she’s likely to have the best of 
it. It’s a long run to England. What’s that ? Rain ?” 

A few drops of rain had dashed against his face. 

“The rain would be welcome,” he continued. “Under 
cover of it, we might change our course and elude our 
pursuers.” 

The drops of rain thickened, and the ladies hurried 
below. A thick mist of drizzling rain fell between yacht 
and yacht like an impenetrable vail, and shut out the sky 
and pressed heavily upon the white-capped waters. 
The captain promptly altered his course under cover of 
the friendly mist. 

“ It will be light in two or three hours, Lord Ronald,” 
he said, “and with this wind we shall have a nasty day 
to-morrow. The English coast is a good bit off — about 
a hundred miles. Now, would it not be better to lie off 
for a day or so in a snug little port, and go on at night 
again in fair weather, and land your lordship’s party at 
a secluded spot on the Cornish coast, out of all danger? 
The French yacht is sure to stand on for England.” 

“ Your idea is good, Captain,” said Charlton ; “ but 
where is the ‘ snug little port ’ in which to lie off ?” 


348 


AN UNEXPECTED CRISIS. 


“ One of the Channel Islands will do, my lord. I can 
run in by daylight, after we have shaken off the French- 
man. I know an inlet on one of the smaller islands, 
which is not inhabited, to which I took Lord Canby 
last summer, and where you will be completely hidden 
from the eyes of an enemy a quarter of a mile distant. 
I really think, all things considered, that we could not 
do better than to run in there.” 

The question was discussed in all its bearings, and 
was finally submitted to Hellene and Mrs. Bliss, who 
were in the cabin. They promptly decided in favor of 
lying over for a day at the island mentioned by the cap- 
tain. Both ladies had a mortal terror of being over- 
taken by Lord Clair and his ally, and of a collision 
between the friends and the enemies of Hellene. Both 
desired to effect escape in the quietest manner, without 
trouble or excitement, and their decision was received 
as final. The ladies retired to their state-rooms, Lord 
Ronald went to his, and the captain returned to the 
deck. 

A steady run of two hours was made before the gray 
dawn broke upon the waters. The rain was drizzling 
steadily, a fitful breeze was blowing despite the mist, 
and the French yacht was nowhere in sight. 

Lord Ronald Charlton was on deck at an early hour, 
refreshed by his brief sleep. 

At about eight o’clock, the Will-o' -the- Wisp ran into 
an inlet in one of the smallest and most southerly, as 
well as most remote of the Channel islands. The inlet 
was shut in by high banks of shelving rock. The island 
was extremely small, wooded, and uninhabited — an ad- 
mirable place for yacht excursionists to rendezvous, or 
to picnic. 

The vessel came to anchor, and shortly afterward Hel- 


AN UNEXPECTED CRISIS. 


349 


lene and Mrs. Bliss appeared on the deck. 

After looking curiously at the inclosing rocks, and out 
upon the sea with its chopping waves, its drizzling rain, 
and the dun sky, the ladies hurried below again, and 
immediately thereafter breakfast was announced. 

After breakfast the captain turned into his berth. The 
steward produced chess-board and men, cribbage, and a 
set of parlor croquet, which he arranged upon one of the 
tables for use. But the lovers sat apart and talked in 
low tones, finding sufficient entertainment in the conver- 
sation of each other ; Mrs. Bliss became absorbed in a 
book, and Letty dropped asleep. 

Before noon the rain stopped and the sky cleared 
An hour later, the sun was shining. About the middle 
of the afternoon, Lord Ronald, Hellene, and Mrs. Bliss 
concluded to ramble about the islet, and went ashore 
accordingly, but their explorations were confined mostly 
to the now dry rocks. 

To the young lovers the day was delightful. Lord 
Ronald’s manner toward his betrothed was marked with 
a chivalrous respect and courtesy. Perhaps she expected 
him to propose an immediate marriage on their landing 
on English soil, but the young man forebore to thus take 
advantage of her dependence upon him. His only 
thought at present was to place her in safe hands, where 
she might be protected from her enemies. 

The day passed without incident. Nothing further 
was seen of the earl’s yacht, and it was concluded that 
Hellene’s enemies had gone on to England and were 
waiting for her there. At a late hour of the afternoon 
the fugitives re-embarked and resumed their voyage. 

The evening came on pleasant and bright, with moon- 
light and starlight. The wind was favorable. The 
lovers paced the deck for hours, but at last Hellene went 
below to her state-room, Mrs. Bliss and Letty following 


/ 


350 


AN UNEXPECTED CRISIS. 


her example. The yacht made a fine run during the 
hours that followed. Like a will-o’-the-wisp indeed, she 
danced over the white caps, under a cloud of canvas. 
Vessels were seen in the distance, but none that resem- 
bled the French yacht. 

When Hellene awoke the next morning it was some 
hours past daylight and the yacht lay at anchor. The 
young girl sprang from her berth, and parting the silken 
curtains, looked out of her window. She saw high 
banks of rock rising steeply on either side of the yacht, 
and above the rocks were trees growing thickl)''. But 
for the trees Hellene would have fancied herself back 
at the island they had visited on the previous day. 

She hastened to dress herself with Letty’s assistance, 
and entered the cabin. Mrs. Bliss was just descending 
the companion-way, and advanced to meet her with 
smiles. 

“ Where are we?” asked Hellene, eagerly. “I must 
go up on deck to see.” 

“We are in a little indentation on the Cornish coast 
known as Smuggler’s Cove,” replied Mrs. Bliss. “ It’s a 
lonely spot, formerly much frequented by smugglers. 
The captain is a Cornishman, and knows this coast well.” 

Hellene ascended to the deck, attended by Mrs. Bliss. 

Lord Ronald and the captain smilingly advanced to 
meet the young girl, and the former drew her arm in his 
with an unconsciously protecting air. 

“ I suppose Mrs. Bliss has told you where we are, Hel- 
lene,” said her lover. “ We are close upon Devonshire, 
but are in Cornwall. We shall have to go to St. Germ- 
ans from here, but as our enemies may have some one 
on the look-out for us there, we must go in disguise.” 

“I feel safe at last,” said Hellene, drawing a long 
breath. “ Oh, Ronald, it seems as if a load of fear were 
removed from me. I feel safer in my own country than 


AN UNEXPECTED CRISIS. 


351 


elsewhere. But how are we to procure disguises ? And 
how are we to go to St. Germans ?’* 

“ Well, you see,” said Lord Ronald, “very fortunately 
for us, the captain lives hereabouts. His people are 
farmer-folks, and he has undertaken not only to procure 
disguises for us, but to transport us to St. Germans.” 

“ We shall outwit your pursuers, Miss Clair,” said the 
captain, heartily. “ When you are dressed in my sister 
Jenny’s clothes, and Lord Ronald is clothed in my 
father’s Sunday suit, even Lord Clair will have to look 
twice to know you. But there’s the steward. Break- 
fast is ready.” 

They went below in excellent spirits. After breakfast, 
the captain and Lord Ronald went ashore, climbing the 
.steep banks of the cliff by an irregular path among the 
rocks, which had once been used by smugglers. 

Some two hours later, the captain reappeared in the 
narrow pathway, his arms laden with bundles, and 
attended by an elderly countryman of the respectable 
yeoman class, who wore a long gray wig, a long coat, 
heavy coarse boots, and an old-fashioned broad-brimmed 
hat. He wore also a pair of green spectacles, and carried 
a plethoric and ancient-looking carpet sack. 

“ The captain’s father ” said Mrs. Bliss. “ But where 
is Lord Ronald ?” 

Hellene laughed gayly. 

“ The country gentleman is Lord Ronald !” she ex- 
claimed. “Don’t you recognize him, Mrs. Bliss? Why, 
he could not conceal his identity from me under a wig 
and a long loose coat.” 

The captain and the yeoman — who was indeed Lord 
Ronald — came aboard. There was much laughter and 
gay chattering. Hellene, flinging off all care, thought 
the masquerade by daylight delightful, and even Mrs. 


352 


AN UNEXPECTED CRISIS. 


Bliss and Letty entered into Hellene’s spirit of enjoy- 
ment. 

The captain assigned his bundles to Mrs. Bliss, Hel- 
lene, and Letty, who retired to their state-rooms. 

A little later they returned to the deck. 

Mrs. Bliss had attired herself in the lank alpaca gown, 
crossed white kerchief, frilled cap and poke bonnet that 
had belonged to the captain’s worthy mother, and looked 
in her disguise liked a staid, elderly country matron. 

Hellene had dressed herself in a flowered chintz gown, 
edged with a frill, and wore a hat with a vail. 

Letty had donned the simpler garb of one of the farm 
servants, and also wore a vail. 

The discarded dresses of the three had been made up 
into countryfied-looking bundles, which they carried in. 
their hands. 

“ It is really a masquerade,” said Lord Ronald, laugh- 
ing. “ The farm wagon waits for us above. We may 
as well ascend the cliff at once.” 

It had been settled that the captain was to return to 
Cherbourg with the yacht without delay, and Lord 
Ronald had written a letter to Lord Canby to be de- 
livered by the captain, whom our hero had rewarded 
with a lavish generosity. 

Hellene bade the skipper good-bye, thanking him 
warmly, and placing in his hand a liberal present of 
money. Then she followed Lord Ronald ashore. The 
party, accompanied by the captain, climbed the cliff and 
came out upon the wooded plateau above. 

Here a farm-wagon, driven by one of the captain s 
brothers, an intelligent-looking farmer, awaited them. 
Mrs. Bliss and Hellene were installed in the back seat ; 
Letty had the second seat to herself, and Lord Ronald 
sat with the driver. And thus, after bidding a last adieu 


THE EARL’S MYSTERIOUS ACQUAINTANCE. 353 

to the captain, they set out upon their drive to St. Ger- 
mans. 

The morning was not far advanced when they leisurely 
entered the town of St. Germans, and drove to a quiet 
farmer’s inn. 

Lord Ronald alighted and held out his hands to assist 
Hellene. She arose from her seat, and as she poised one 
slender arched foot upon the step, a man came briskly 
along the street and paused to look at her. 

The man was Odo, Earl of Charlewick ! 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE EARL'S MYSTERIOUS ACQUAINTANCE. 

Lord Charlewick had paused to look at the party of 
seeming country people with no other motive than idle 
curiosity. He did not recognize any member of the 
party, and had no suspicion that under such simple dis- 
guise were hidden the very persons for whom he was 
searching. 

As the party on board the Will o' the Wisp had fore- 
seen, the earl and Lord Clair, on losing track of them 
in the mist on the night of Hellene’s escape from La 
Tour de St. Pierre, had sailed directly for England and 
its nearest port. They had landed on English soil on 
the morning of the preceding day, and the two confed- 
erates, after consultation, had separated, the better to 
pursue their search for Hellene. The baron had pro- 
ceeded along the southeast coast, while the earl hastened 
westward so far as Falmouth, intending to stop at all 


354 the earl’s mysterious acquaintance. 

the principal ports on his return journey to London, or 
to communicate with the smaller ports by telegraph. 

Upon this morning he had been proceeding to Ply- 
mouth, when an accident to the railway train necessi- 
tated an hour’s stoppage at St. Germans. He was im- 
proving the hour by a stroll about the town, when he 
chanced to encounter Hellene and her friends. 

But although he did not recognize them, Hellene rec- 
ognized him of course upon the instant. There was no 
mistaking the supple, swarthy, Spanish-faced earl, with 
his glowering eyes and cruel, savage-looking mouth. 

Hellene thrilled with a quick alarm, but she did not 
start nor betray her terror. As Lord Ronald helped her 
to the ground, she whispered : 

“ Be on your guard, Ronald. Lord Charlewick stands 
yonder looking at us.” 

Lord Ronald did not turn his head to look around 
him, nor did he betray even that he had heard Hellene’s 
warning, save by a significant glance. He assisted Mrs. 
Bliss to alight, and as he did so whispered to her the 
warning he had just received. Then he helped Letty to 
the ground, and having less confidence in her powers of 
self-command, and fearing that she would cry out at 
sight of the earl, or on learning that the earl was near 
at hand, he took her by the arm, and interposing his 
person between her and the enemy, he conducted her 
into the inn, Hellene and Mrs. Bliss following. 

The young countryman, in charge of horSes and 
wagon, drove around to the inn stables. 

Lord Charlewick gazed after the party as they entered 
the inn, still with idle curiosity not unmingled with 
interest. 

“An uncommon pretty foot that slender girl has got,” 
he thought, admiringly. “A Spanish, or an Arab foot, 
by Jove ! And yet the girl was a mere farmer’s girl, or 


THE EARL'S MYSTERIOUS ACQUAINTANCE. 


355 


servant, perhaps, although she carried herself like a prin- 
cess. But two persons out of the five looked like genu- 
ine yokels. There was something about the tall old 
man that made me think him young, that is to say, 
disguised. Disguised ? Ah ! I’ll take another look at 
them.” 

Drawing his breath quickly, and setting his heavy 
lips together firmly, he turned back and approached the 
inn. The door of the bar-parlor was open, and a stout 
and comely woman sat on a high stool behind the bar, 
sewing. The party of seeming country people were not 
visible. 

Lord Charlewick entered the room and called for 
brandy and water. It was furnished him. Ashe sipped 
it, he plied the bar-maid with flatteries, and finally in 
quired of her the names of the new arrivals and whence 
they had come. 

“ Their name is Grig— it’s a family party, sir,” said 
the bar-maid. “1 did not think the slender young 
woman pretty,” and she tossed her head ; “but perhaps 
I’m no judge. She was too uppish to suit me. And 
they are not like farmer folk at all, calling for a private 
parlor, and the best in the inn at that. And the stout 
young woman called the other Miss, for all the world as 
if one was servant and the other was mistress— not that 
it’s any of my business, though,” she added, pursing her 
lips, as if annoyed at her own indiscretion, and resolved 
to say nothing further. 

The earl tossed a half-crown on the bar. 

“ Never mind the change,” he said. “ Keep it for a 
hair-ribbon.” 

He sauntered out of the inn, whistling softly under 
his breath. 

“ Hum !” he said, when he had gained the street. 
“ I’ve stumbled upon my game by the merest chance 


356 


THE EARLS MYSTERIOUS ACQUAINTANCE. 


I’ll stake my life that these simple ‘country folk’ are 
Ronald, Hellene, and Miss Clair’s maid. But who is 
the elder woman ? Some lady, doubtless, whom Ronald 
provided to matronize Hellene. He means to guard her 
reputation beyond all possibility of cavil from gossip- 
ing tongues. I thank him for his chivalric regard for 
her,” and the earl sneered. “ It is my future wife whom 
he is shielding so carefully.” 

The conviction that he had discovered Ronald and 
Hellene in disguise grew upon him. He wondered that 
he had not suspected the truth in the first moment of 
beholding them. The small arched Arab foot he had 
admired in the seeming country girl he now remem- 
bered was very daintily shod, and was the counterpart 
of Hellene’s. He said to himself that their very car- 
riage had showed refinement, culture, pride, and only 
their dress had indicated inferior rank. 

“Of course they’ll make for London at once,” he said 
to himself. “ I have no power to arrest or detain them, 
but Clair must be on hand to claim his daughter on 
their arrival in town. He could not get here in time to 
intercept them, for they’ll not stay here many hours.” 

He paced up and down the street before the inn, as if 
awaiting some one. 

Presently, the farmer who had brought Lord Ronald’s 
party from the coast appeared and approached the inn. 
The inn-stables were situated in a neighboring street 
and not far distant, and the farmer had remained to 
look personally after the welfare of his horses. As he 
came near, the earl met him, lifted his hat, and asked, 
politely : 

“ Excuse me, sir, but have I the honor of meeting Mr. 
Bolton of Plymouth ?” 

The farmer was an intelligent man, but not ready- 
witted. He did not suspect that he was face to face 


THE EAKL’s MYSTERIOUS ACQUAINTANCE. 357 

with one of Lord Ronald’s enemies. He stammered and 
reddened, taking the earl’s question in good faith, and 
answered : 

“ No, sir, you are mistaken. I am not from Ply- 
mouth.” 

“It’s a most marvellous resemblance, ” said the earl, 
in his blandest manner. “ I really took you for Bolton. 
I can hardly persuade myself that I am mistaken. May 
I inquire your name ? I should like to tell Bolton that I 
have seen his counterpart.” 

This very bald ruse to discover the farmer’s name and 
address was the best idea that occurred to Lord Charle- 
wick, and he hastened to make use of it. It would have 
scarcely deceived a street gamin in London, and it par- 
took strongly of the strategy of the “ swell gentry,” but 
the farmer, bewildered and confused, feeling awkward 
and self-conscious in the presence of the elegant stran- 
ger, was completely taken in by it. 

“ I ain’t ashamed of my name,” he said, confusedly. 
“It’s Grig of Long Chine. I’m an out-and-out Cornish- 
man.” 

“Long Chine is on the Cornish coast, then ?” 

“ Yes, as lonely a spot as you’ll find on the whole coast, 
and as likely a one,” said the farmer. 

“ Much obliged,” said the earl. “ I've a great fancy 
for Cornwall. Good-morning, sir.” 

He raised his hat again and passed on. 

The countryman stared after him and then entered 
the inn. Deeming the rencontre with the earl only what 
it seemed, he made no mention of it. 

The information he had thus gained that the party 
registered at the inn under the name of Grig had come 
directly from the sea coast obliterated all doubt from 
the earl’s mind. 

“ It is Ronald and Hellene, sure enough,” he thought. 


358 THE earl’s mysterious acquaintance. 

“ They must be made to believe that I did not recognize 
them, and that I am gone on to London.” 

Accordingly, the earl did not return to the inn, but 
lounged in a gin-shop upon a neighboring corner for a 
good share of the day. 

Contrary to his expectations, Lord Ronald’s party re- 
mained at the inn all day. 

Lord Ronald himself strolled out into the streets once 
or twice, but of course saw nothing of the earl. 

Lord Ronald’s party proceeded to Plymouth by the 
early evening train, and the earl managed to smuggle 
himself on board the same train without being seen by 
those from whom he preferred to remain hidden. 

The fugitives had entire possession of a first-class com- 
partment, and as they journeyed onwards they planned 
their future movements. 

It was deemed best to proceed directly to London, 
and to hasten then to Scotland by the swiftest trains. 

“ But it seems as if in going to London we were 
running directly into the lion’s jaws,” said Mrs. Bliss. 
“ I am sure that Lord Clair is in London.” 

“And that Lord Charlewick is on his way to London,” 
said Hellene. 

“ The earl is very possibly upon the same train with 
us,” said Lord Ronald, calmly. “ I feel a conviction 
that his keen eyes penetrated our disguise this morning. 
I discovered from the bar-maid that he had plied her 
with questions concerning us. He suspects our identity, 
and with him to suspect is to investigate. We have not 
deceived him, but he is trying to deceive us. I am 
morally certain that he’s on this train, and that he in- 
tends to watch our movements. If we do not go to 
London, he will suspect our intended destination, and 
may cause us to be intercepted on our journey to Scot- 


THE EARLES MYSTERIOUS ACQUAINTANCE. 359 

land. If we go to London, we may find means to shake 
him off.” 

“ But how ?” asked Mrs. Bliss. 

“We shall have to adopt another style of dress, of 
course,” said Lord Ronald. “ He has no power to stop us. 
He does not want a scandal connected with Hellene's 
name. He will find Lord Clair, and bring him quietly 
to the rescue. If we do not go to London, we challenge 
our enemies to intercept us. If we do go, we may elude 
them, and in any event we can find friends in town to 
help us.” 

“ It is hard to think of my father as my enemy,” said 
Hellene ; “ but he is indeed my enemy. I have never 
lived with him. He has never shown parental regard 
for me. He has linked himself with the earl to oppress 
and destroy me. He considers me as being at his dis- 
posal, body and soul, and he means to sell me to the 
earl and thereby enrich himself. I have tried to love 
him, but I can only fear him. And yet the very name 
of father should ordinarily be held sacred, and I would 
be glad to honor him if he were only worthy of honor. 

I would have borne anything at his hands, imprison- 
ment, cruelty and starvation, until I died, rather than 
denounce or defy him, but I dare not allow myself to 
be forced into an unhallowed, perjured marriage with 
.Lord Charlewick. My worst fear while I was shut up 
in La Tour de St. Pierre was lest my father should ply 
me with drugs in my food to weaken my will, and so, 
making me helpless, marry me to the earl. I believe 
him quite capable of it.” 

The young girl’s instincts were not at fault. The ba- 
ron was capable of such a course ; nay, more, he had half 
resolved, in the event of Hellene’s continued resistance 
to his will, to adopt it. Although her father, he was 
her worst enemy. Devoid of principle, utterly selfish, 


360 


THE EARL’S MYSTERIOUS ACQUAINTANCE. 


without love for his child, he was determined to force 
her into a repugnant marriage from which he should 
reap all advantage, and he knew no remorse, nor pity, 
nor compunction of conscience. He cared nothing for 
Hellene’s happiness. He said to himself that the mar- 
riage would be one of convenience, and therefore like 
most French marriages, and Hellene, being his daugh- 
ter, had no right to question his disposition of her. 

Such being his views, even the strictest upholder of 
parental authority could not fail to justify Hellene in 
her flight, as in her determination to be true to herself, 
her lover, and the principles of right which were her 
rule of action. 

The reasons for going on to London being deemed 
good and sufficient, Lord Ronald’s party journeyed on 
that night. 

The earl went up to London by the same train. 

On arriving at the London terminus, Lord Ronald 
alighted and engaged a four-wheel cab. It was now 
morning, a gray, disagreeable dawn with a fine rain. 
Ronald placed Hellene, Mrs. Bliss and Letty in the cab 
and entered after them. 

“What hotel, sir?” asked the cabman. 

Lord Ronald put his head out of the window to reply, 
and as he did so he marked a muffled figure of a man 
about to enter the cab next in rank. Despite the high 
collar turned up about the face, and the slouched hat* 
drawn over the eyes, Ronald recognized the figure as 
that of his uncle. He saw, too, that the earl had paused 
to hear his answer, and he gave it promptly. 

“ Hartley’s Family Hotel, Piccadilly,” he said, in a 
tone apparently intended to be low and cautious. “ Be 
lively !” 

The cab rolled out of the station. 

The earl sprang into the next cab, and said : 


THE EARL’S MYSTERIOUS ACQUAINTANCE. 361 

“Follow that cab. Don’t lose sight of it. and don’t 
let the persons in it see that they are followed.” 

The cabman nodded and sprang to his box, setting 
out in pursuit. 

The earl being of a suspicious nature did not quite 
believe that his quarry would proceed to the hotel 
named. He considered it quite likely that Ronald had 
recognized him, and had intended the address given for 
his ears. 

To his satisfaction, however, Lord Ronald’s party 
proceeded to Piccadilly and alighted at Hartley’s Family 
Hotel. The earl drove past the hotel leisurely once or 
twice, and then also alighted and made inquiries of the 
hotel clerk, and learned that “Mrs. Bliss and party and 
Lord Ronald Charlton ” had engaged bed-rooms and 
sitting-room, and ordered breakfast, and announced in- 
tention of remaining until the next day. 

The earl then returned to his cab and drove away. 

“I’ve plenty of time to look up Clair and return and 
pounce upon my young lady before noon,” he thought. 
“ Clair must be in town by this time. Said he’d be here 
certain this morning at the Alexandra. If he’s not, 
I’ll wire him at various points along the coast.” 

He drove briskly to the Alexandra and found that the 
baron had arrived that morning and was gone to bed. 
He proceeded to arouse him, but this was no easy 
matter, Lord Clair being endowed with a capacity to 
sleep entitling him to rank with the renowned Seven 
Sleepers. After pounding upon the baron’s door vigor- 
ously for some twenty minutes, the earl had the satis- 
faction of hearing a stir within the room, and presently 
Lord Clair, in an extreme dishabille, opened the door 
to the extent of some jhree inches, and demanded with 
a volley of expletives what was wanted. 

“ It’s I — Charlewick !” said the earl, pushing the door 


362 


THE EARL ? S MYSTERIOUS ACQUAINTANCE. 


open unceremoniously. “Come, dress yourself lively, 
man. I’ve treed our game, and I want you to come and 
brng it down !” 

“What ! Is Hellene found?” 

“ So I said. Can’t you understand plain English ? 
She’s at Hartley’s, Piccadilly, dressed like a guy, along 
with Ronald, a Mrs. Bliss, and the maid, Letty. They’re 
to stop there till to-morrow— at least they think so. Of 
course you will take your runaway daughter under your 
charge immediately.” 

Lord Clair dressed himself expeditiously. 

“Gad!” he said, “ I’m glad she’s found. I didn’t 
know but she’d marry the beggar before we could catch 
her. Sure she isn’t married, Charlewick?” 

“ Sure. They wouldn’t skulk so if they were married. 
The truth is, Clair — but of course you can’t understand 
it — Ronald is too proud and chivalric to take advantage 
of Miss Clair’s dependence upon him to speak of mar- 
riage to her at present. He’s provided her with a lady 
chaperon, and the whole journey is managed with a 
view to conciliate or disarm censorious people.” 

“ But if he don’t marry her, what the deuce is he 
going to do ?” demanded the baron. 

“ I suspect that he will have an eminent lawyer to see 
her to-day ; that she will apply to the courts for a new 
guardian, or become a ward of chancery. You’ll find 
that that is their little game, and that you are to be set 
aside as a false guardian and unworthy parient. See ?” 

The baron did see, and, seeing, waxed angry beyond 
the power of words to describe. 

“We’ve wasted an hour already,” exclaimed the earl. 
“ They have doubtless dispatched a message to a lawyer. 
We must hasten if we wish to do anything.” 

Lord Clair was all dressed. They hurried down to 
the cab and to Piccadilly, arriving in due time at Hart- 


THE EARL’S MYSTERIOUS ACQUAINTANCE. 363 

ley’s Hotel. They alighted, and the fat baron, red as a 
turkey-cock, and swelling with indignation and import- 
ance, led the way into the hotel office. 

“ I wish to be shown into the presence of my daughter, 
Miss Clair, without previous announcement,” puffed the 
baron. “ Immediately, do you hear ?” 

“ There is no Miss Clair registered, sir,” was the re- 
sponse, as the clerk glanced over the book. 

“ She is, with Mrs. Bliss,” suggested the earl. “ She is 
included in the * Mrs. Bliss and party ’ on your books.” 

“ Mrs. Bliss and party are gone, sir,” said the clerk. 

“ Gone !” said the earl, amazed. 

“ Gone !” panted the baron, bewildered. 

The clerk repeated his statement. 

“ But this is a most bare-faced swindle !” cried the 
earl, violently. “ I came here two hours since, and you 
yourself, Mr. Clerk, told me that Lord Ronald had en- 
gaged rooms to be occupied by him and his-party till to- 
morrow, and that they had ordered breakfast — ” 

“ So they did, sir,” responded the clerk, “ but there’s 
no law compelling guests to stay against their will. He 
ordered breakfast, but did not stay to eat it. Within 
fifteen minutes after you went away Lord Ronald Charl- 
ton settled his bill and went away with his friends.” 

“ Sold !” muttered the earl. “ Ronald was conscious 
of all my movements, then. Curse him. The debt I 
owe him grows bigger every hour.” 

“ Where did they go ?” inquired the baron. 

“ I don’t know. Lord Ronald summoned the cab him- 
self,” said the clerk. “ He saw it passing, and it may 
belong to the City or the East End for aught I know.” 

Further investigation proved fruitless, and the dis- 
comfited confederates returned to the street. 

“ They are hiding in London, and mean to consult a 


364 THE earl’s mysterious acquaintance. 

lawyer at once,” said the earl. “ Where would they be 
apt to seek lodgings, Clair?” 

“ I don’t know,” said the baron, moodily. “ If I once 
get hold of the girl — but how to get hold of her — that’s 
the question. I’m afraid she will create a scandal, 
though that’s hardly like her. She has acquaintances 
in London. We might make inquires for her.” 

“ Don’t think she’d go up to Scotland to old Mrs. 
Vavasour, her far-off ancestress, eh ?” asked the earl. 

“ No. The old woman wouldn’t receive her, and Hel- 
lene knows it. Storm Castle would be the last place of 
refuge she would think of. Why, the old beldame of 
the castle is a hundred years old and as ugly as Lucifer, 
and she hates the very name of Clair. A daughter of 
mine would fare less well at her hands than a common 
beggar.” 

“Then Miss Clair has not left London !” declared the 
earl, decidedly. “She is probably at the house of some 
acquaintance. Ronald would take care to place her in 
good care immediately Who does she know in Lon- 
don ?” 

The two men were still standing upon the pavement 
at the door of the cab, uncertain what course to take. 
Lord Clair was about to reply, when a man, with a 
sailor’s rolling gait, and a red, sinister face thoroughly 
villainous in its aspect, jostled rudely against the earl. 

Charlewick turned upon him in a fury, but the angry 
words he would have spoken were frozen on his lips. 
The swarthy, domineering face of the earl grew actually 
livid ; and the savage, matador soul within him quailed 
and trembled. He who often boasted that he had never 
known fear now trembled like a girl. 

The villainous-looking fellow who had jostled him, 
and before whom he thus quailed, stared at him in open- 
eyed recognition. 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S WILL. 


365 


“ By Hookey !” he exclaimed, in a coarse, guttural 
voice, “ if it ain’t Spanish Bob ! Whv, they said you 
was dead. Give your hand to your old chum, Spanish 
Bob ! My eyes ! you look as if you were in clover now- 
a-days !” 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

MRS. VAVASOUR’S WILL. 

Mr. McKay, of Kirkfaldy, was a shrewd, brawny 
Scotsman, a “son of Anak,” over six feet in height, and 
of lusty proportions. Among his admiring friends he 
was familiarly known as “Big Sandy.” He was an able 
lawyer, a keen-witted, practical man of business, and 
was an esteemed friend of old Mrs. Vavasour, of Storm 
Castle. 

He entered the drawing-room and the presence of the 
venerable lady in full dinner dress, and approached his 
hostess, bowing low. Mrs. Vavasour received him gra- 
ciously, and with the stateliness of a queen. 

The rich apparel, the splendid jewels of the centen- 
arian, the forests of brilliant lights, the air of festivity 
that reigned throughout the grand apartment, caused 
the lawyer to glance about him in the expectation of 
beholding visitors. He saw only Edda Brend. 

“ Miss Brend,” said the aged lady, with stately court- 
esy, “ allow me to introduce to you my lawyer, Mr. Mc- 
Kay, of Kirkfaldy. Mr. McKay, Miss Brend is my lady- 
companion.” 

The young companion and the lawyer exchanged 
bows. 


366 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S WILL. 


“I understood from your messenger, Mrs. Vavasour,” 
said McKay, “that you were seriously ill. I was quite 
concerned, and made all haste to come to you.” 

“ That was well,” said Mrs. Vavasour, “ but I am well 
— quite well in body and sound in mind, Mr. McKay. 
Remember that.” 

Her hard, black eyes snapped fiercely, giving emphasis 
to her words. 

“ I understood also from the messenger, Mrs. Vava- 
sour,” continued the lawyer, “ that you had guests at the 
castle. He said that Miss Cameron of Glen Cameron 
was visiting here.” 

“She was here, but she’s gone home,” said the aged 
lady, in a cold, hard voice. “ You find me quite alone 
with my young companion. Did you have a hard 
journey ?” 

“ No harder than usual, madam,, thanks. I stopped 
an hour in Brae Town to bait my horse, and to visit old 
friends,” said the lawyer. “I stopped at the manse.” 

Mrs. Vavasour’s face hardened, growing like marble. 

She did not answer, and an unpleasant silence suc- 
ceeded, which was broken by the butler’s solemn an- 
nouncement of dinner. 

Mr. McKay arose briskly and offered the little old lady 
his arm. As he stooped a little to approach nearer her 
stature, she raised her yellow hand and clung to the 
lower part of his coat-sleeve, and thus they went out to 
dinner, Edda bringing up the rear. 

The dinner was a luxurious banquet, handsomely 
served. Mr. McKay returned with the ladies to the 
drawing-room after the repast, and some little time 
was spent in objectless remarks, after which the old 
lady, perched in state in her throne-like chair, introduced 
the real object of the interview. 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S WILL. 


367 


“How do you find me looking, Mr. McKay?” she 
asked, abruptly. 

“I haven’t seen you looking better in twenty years, 
madam,” replied the lawyer. 

“Humph! You realize then that I have a ‘sound 
mind in a sound body,’ Mr. McKay ?” 

“ Certainly, madam. You have well expressed it. 
Your body is still untouched by disease, and your mind, 
it is plain, retains all its early vigor.” 

“I have sent for you, Mr. McKay,” said the centen- 
arian, “on most important business. • I have nearly com- 
pleted a century of existence. I shall be one hundred 
years old upon the day after to-morrow. I am still 
strong and in the possession of all my faculties, but I 
realize that I am growing old. I have never felt the 
burden of my years so much as of late. And I am re- 
minded that I have as yet made no will. Should I 
neglect to make one, who will inherit my property ?” 

“ Your great-great-grandson, madam, Mr. Dugald 
Vavasour.” 

“ So I supposed,” said the aged lady, grimly. “ I 
wish now to make my will. Shall I provide you with 
writing materials ?” 

“ Thank you, no. I always carry writing materials 
with me,” said the lawyer. “ I have a dispatch-box in 
my pocket ready for use.” 

He drew his chair up to the table, produced his writ- 
ing materials, and sat grave, silent and expectant, a 
heavy shadow on his face. 

“ Miss Brend,” said the old lady, “ please go and send 
Margery to me. And you need not return, my dear.” 

Edda bowed, and went out in silence. 

Mrs. Vavasour’s eyes followed the slender little figure 
with something of tenderness in them. The girl’s witch- 
ing brightness, her sunny sweetness of temper, her gay- 


368 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S WILL. 


ety and self-unconsciousness, had actually won the old 
lady’s heart. Edda was like a sunbeam in the grim old 
castle, and was already a favorite with every member of 
the household. 

“That girl ought to have been my descendant,” said 
the old lady, sighing. “ I was very like her eighty odd 
years ago. She brings back to me vividly the memory 
of my youth. Strange how to-day my youth seems 
present with me. I don’t like to have those old mem- 
ories press upon me so. It’s not a good sign, Mr. Mc- 
Kay.” 

The lawyer assented mechanically, but did not answer. 

Old Margery made her appearance, and her mistress 
bade her be seated. 

“ I want you as a witness,” said Mrs. Vavasour. “ But 
you are not to speak, mind that now, Margery.” 

The lawyer fidgeted with his papers. 

“ Draw up the preliminaries,” said Mrs. Vavasour. 
“ Make the will as strong as you know how, Mr. McKay. 
Don’t leave any loop-holes or flaws for lawsuits to be 
based upon. Make the will clear, simple, and as brief 
as possible. The less there’s in it the less there’ll be to 
pick at.” 

Mr. McKay set to work with very unlawyer-like ner- 
vousness, and wrote the usual formula. 

“And now, Mrs. Vavasour?” he said. 

“ And now,” said the old lady, with a spark of defiance 
in her eyes, “ I give and bequeath my estate and domain 
known as Ben Storm, with the ancient castellated dwel- 
ling known as Storm Castle; my estate of Loch Lennes- 
tie, also in Scotland ; my estate of Vavasour Hall, in 
Leicestershire, England ; and all my consols, stocks, 
bonds, bank accounts, and personal effects, anything and 
everything of which I may die seized — isn’t that the 
phrase ?— all my hereditaments and possessions of all 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S WILL. 


369 


kinds whatsoever — put that into legal shape, Mr. Mc- 
Kay, and read it to me. And mind you leave no flaws.” 

The lawyer complied, and read the document care- 
fully and slowly. 

“ To whom ?” he asked. “What name shall I write 
as legatee ?” 

“ To Miss Edda Brend, my companion.” 

The pen dropped from the lawyer’s hand. He stared 
aghast. 

“To her? To a mere companion — a girl of whom 
you know nothing?” cried the lawyer. “Impossible !” 

Old Margery came and threw herself at the feet of 
her mistress, sobbing aloud. 

“ Why impossible ?” said the aged lady, firily. “ Am I 
in my dotage ?” 

“ No-no-” 

“The girl is no adventuress,” said Mrs. Vavasour. 
“ I know much of her history. She is a protege of 
Miss Powys, a dear friend of mine. She will make a 
fitting mistress of Storm Castle — ” 

“But, Mrs. Vavasour,” said the lawyer, “this is no 
right nor just. The girl is well enough, no doubt, but 
she is not of your blood, and it is not fitting that she 
should be your heir. Forgive me, madam, but it is my 
duty to speak of him who should be your heir by every 
law, human and divine. Think of your own descendant, 
of Mr. Dugald Vavasour, as noble a young man as lives 
upon God’s earth. He is down in the valley at the foot 
of the mountain at this moment. His very soul yearns 
toward you. Let me send for him and witness a recon- 
ciliation between you two.” 

“ I will not. Dugald Vavasour shall inherit nothing 
of mine beyond a single shilling,” said the old lady, im- 
placably. “Will you write the name of Edda Brend ?” 


370 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S WILL. 


“ I cannot,” said the lawyer. “ I cannot be a party to 
such gross injustice.” 

“ Oh, my leddy,” pleaded old Margery, “ don’t sign 
away your property from Master Dugald. You’ll not 
rest quiet in your grave if you do, my leddy !” 

“ Hush up, Margery, or I’ll send you away. Keep to 
your own business, woman,” cried Mrs. Vavasour. “ As 
for you, Mr. McKay, if you don’t make out the will I’ll 
send for your rival lawyer, Flood, and he shall have 
charge of my affairs.” 

“ Why are you so unforgiving, madam ?” asked the 
lawyer, irresolutely. “ Do you still persist in marrying 
Mr. Vavasour to Miss Cameron ?” 

“ No, I loathe the creature. I sent her away this very 
day, the hypocrite !” 

McKay’s face brightened. 

“ Oh, then it’s all right,” he exclaimed. “ The cause 
of contention between you and Mr. Vavasour being re- 
moved, there’s nothing to prevent your being on good 
terms again ?” 

“Oh, there isn’t, is there?” said Mrs. Vavasour, ironi- 
cally. “ His disobedience and obstinacy remain the 
same, do they not ? He preferred his own will to mine, 
did he not? He flung off my authority and set out to 
earn his own living. Let him earn it. I will never for- 
give him — never. I do not wish to hear his name again. 
If you plead further for him, you will mortally offend 
me. Write the name of Edda Brend in my will, or drop 
the pen and go home, while I send for Flood.” 

The lawyer risked the old lady’s anger, and made yet 
another appeal to her. Old Margery wept and pleaded, 
but all in vain. Mrs. Vavasour’s heart was harder than 
a millstone ; her pride was like granite ; her will like 
iron. 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S WILL. 


371 


She arose at last to touch a bell, saying that she would 
dispatch a messenger for lawyer Flood. She meant 
what she said, and Mr. McKay, after a brief hesitancy, 
yielded the contest at last, and wrote the name of Edda 
Brend. 

“ One word, madam,” he said, as the old lady returned 

to her chair. “You have another descendant living 

Miss Clair. Since you persist in disinheriting Mr. Vava- 
sour, ought not Miss Clair to be your heiress ?” 

“By no means,” said the old lady, tartly. “Miss 
Clair is very wealthy, and if she were not she should 
have none of my money. I don’t like the Clair blood. 
I never saw the girl, but I am greatly prejudiced against 
her. Heaven help her if she were to have no better 
friend than me ! Now finish the will.” 

The lawyer obeyed, and then read the document 
again aloud, the old lady working her beaked nose and 
scooped-out chin in unison as she listened. 

When he had finished, old Margery went out at Mrs. 
Vavasour’s command, and returned with the housekeeper 
and butler. 

Then Mrs. Vavasour appended her signature to the 
will, writing her name in a clear, firm hand. 

Old Margery, the housekeeper, the butler, and Mr. 
McKay wrote down their names as witnesses. 

Mrs. Vavasour then dismissed the two servitors whom 
Margery had brought in, and read over the will herself 
with superabundant caution. She folded the document 
and thrust it within her dress, saying : 

“ I will take care of it. Margery, I want nothing said to 
Miss Brend about this will. I do not wish her to know 
that she is to be my heir. And now, Mr. McKay,” added 
the venerable lady, rising, “as you’ve quite worn me 
out with your talk, I’ll retire to my rooms to rest.” 


372 


THE RIGHTFUL HEIR. 


She bade him good-night and departed, leaning on 
Margery’s arm. 

“ As gross a piece of injustice as ever I knew,” mut- 
tered the lawyer, on finding himself alone. “ Poor Vava- 
sour ! I haven’t the heart to tell him.” 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE RIGHTFUL HEIR. 

Upon reaching her own rooms with Margery’s aid 
after her exciting interview with the lawyer, Mrs. Vava- 
sour’s first act was to conceal the will that was to en- 
rich Edda Brend at the expense of the rightful heir. In 
the .old lady’s boudoir was her private desk, a massive 
affair of carved ebony, inlaid with ivory. She hastened 
to it and unlocked it with a key which, on a heavy steel 
ring with other keys, depended from her girdle. 

“Come, Margery,” commanded the venerable lady, in 
a croaking sort of voice. “ Bring a candle. I want to 
show you where I shall deposit this will.” 

Margery brought a wax candle in its tall, silver can- 
dlestick, and in silence, and with a sullen look on her 
rugged face, awaited her mistress’ revelation. 

The old lady touched a carefully-hidden spring, and 
revealed a shallow secret drawer in the very framework, 
between two large ordinary drawers. This secret recep- 
tacle was empty, and was large enough and deep enough 
to contain a single paper of good size, but without fur- 
ther room to spare. 

Mrs. Vavasour deposited her will in the secret drawer, 
and explained to Margery the mechanism of the secret 


THE RIGHTFUL HEIR. 


373 


spring. Then she closed the drawer and bade the serv- 
ing-woman open it. Margery did so with ease, still sul- 
len, however, and silent. 

The venerable lady now fixed her fierce, keen black 
eyes on the woman, and said, in a tone that made Mar- 
gery shiver : 

“ When I die, Margery, you are to send at once to 
Kirkfaldy for Mr. MacKay, and on his arrival you are to 
open this drawer in his presence and that of Minister 
Macdougal, and you are to produce this will as my last 
will and testament. If you are false to me — if you at- 
tempt to destroy or hide the will — if you are not faith- 
ful in letter and spirit to my injunctions — then may my 
curse rest upon you forevermore !” 

Old Margery shuddered and trembled, protesting that 
she would be true to the charge reposed in her. 

“ Not that I expect to die for many years yet,” said 
the old lady. “ I am in good health, and I see no reason 
why the machinery of my life may not run on and on 
for ten years more. But enough of this. I am tired. 
Put me to bed, Margery.” 

Mrs. Vavasour locked her desk, and walked slowly 
into her dressing-room, leaning on her staff. Margery 
disrobed her before the blazing, cherry-wood fire, and 
put upon her her night-robe, and over that a white cash- 
mere dressing-gown, in which the centenarian looked 
like a shriveled mummy. 

“ I’ll sit here a little while, I think,” said Mrs. Vava- 
sour. “You may bring me my night-cap, Margery.” 

The old lady’s “night-cap” was not a fabrication of 
lace or linen, but a bowl of steaming negus. Margery 
was obliged to go to the housekeeper’s room to com- 
pound it, and her mistress was left alone. 

“I’ve done well,” murmured Mrs. Vavasour, uneasily, 
on finding herself alone; “I’m sure I’ve done well 


374 


THE RIGHTFUL HEIR. 


Miss Brend _s a good, honest, honorable young woman, 
fit to succeed me.- And the fact that I have made my 
hired companion my heiress will have an awful sting 
for Dugald.” 

She rested her elbows on her knees and her curved- 
out chin on her hands, and brooded over her private 
affairs until Margery returned with her “ night-cap.” 
While she sipped the negus, Margery warmed the bed 
as usual with an ancient warming-pan, and soon after 
the old lady, in a warm glow, retired to her bed and 
went to sleep. 

Margery slept in an* adjoining closet, to which she 
retired soon after. 

Mrs. Vavasour was astir at the usual hour on the next 
morning. She had her coffee in bed, and then arose 
and was dressed with scrupulous care in a morning- 
gown of embroidered Indian cashmere. She presided 
at the usual nine o’clock breakfast in the breakfast- 
room, and was more than usually vivacious, caustic, 
witty and malicious. 

Mr. McKay, looking very grave, and Edda, as bright 
as usual, were also in their places at the table. 

Soon after breakfast the lawyer took his leave, in a 
manner more formal than usual, and a little later rode 
away from the castle and down the mountain side on 
his return home. 

Edda spent the forenoon in amusing and entertaining 
her employer in Mrs. Vavasour’s boudoir. They lunched 
together at one o’clock, and at about two the great old 
family chariot appeared in the carriage-porch, in accord- 
ance with the old lady’s commands. 

“ The day is pleasant and not warm,” said Mrs. Vava- 
sour, as Margery tied on her mistress’ costly and be- 
plumed scuttle bonnet of a fashion of many years be- 
fore. “ We shall go through Brae Town, of course, and 


THE RIGHTFUL HEIR. 


375 


we’re likely to meet the carriage in which I sent Miss 
Cameron home. It will return to-day.” 

The butler assisted his mistress to the chariot, and 
placed her comfortably upon the back seat nestled 
among cushions. Edda, in a costume of black silk, and 
with a jaunty little black hat with scarlet feather perched 
upon her crop of tiny black ringlets, wrapped her em- 
ployer carefully about with soft carriage-rugs and took 
her seat opposite, and the chariot rolled out of the porch 
and on its way down the mountain side. 

The day was delightful, being neither cold nor hot. 
A gentle mountain breeze was .blowing. They moved 
slowly down the bare upper slopes of the peak, and 
entered upon that portion^ of the mountain where trees 
— firs and spruces — grew more thickly. The road, as 
we have before said, was steep, rough, and full of breaks 
and inequalities. Several times Mrs. Vavasour was 
pitched violently forward into Edda’s arms, but these 
incidents belonged to the drive, and the old lady ex- 
pected them and was not at all discomposed by them. 

“ Ben Storm is a grand old mountain,” said Mrs. Va- 
vasour, with a somewhat wistful glance at Edda. 

“Yes,” said the girl, innocently, not comprehending 
the thoughts and purposes of her eccentric employer ; “ I 
should like to live and die at Storm Castle. I am used 
to solitudes like these, and I should never be lonely.” 

Mrs. Vavasour smiled grimly. 

“ I was born at the castle up yonder,” she said, point- 
ing toward the summit of the mountain over her shoulder 

O 

— “just one hundred years ago to-morrow morning! 
Just think of spending one hundred years at Storm Cas- 
tle, through childhood, youth, womanhood, and age ! 
A century ; try to realize it, girl ! Ah, it was a proud 
and powerful race that once had its stronghold in Storm 
Castle in the heart of the Highlands, and though the 


376 


THE RIGHTFUL HEIR. 


power is gone I have all the pride that ever distinguished 
my ancestors. And I have dwelt here alone on the 
mountain-peak, since my husband died sixty years ago, 
more like a feudal queen or princess than a merely 
wealthy lady of the nineteenth century. Strange how 
to-day and yesterday,” she added, “ my mind goes back 
to the past.- I lived my twenty years of married life for 
the most part here ; my children were all born here ; 
but husband and children are buried under the aisles of 
the kirk in Brae Town, and I am a century old and 
alone,” and she sighed heavily. 

The lumbering chariot made the descent of the moun- 
tain in safety, drawn by the sure-footed Highland 
horses, and entered the little hamlet of Brae Town. 

The hamlet consisted of a single straggling street, on 
which was the plain stone church, the adjoining manse, 
the smithy, a variety shop in which was the post-office, 
and a few cottages set in gardens. The carrier brought 
the post-bags and express-packages three times a week 
from Kirkfaldy, and his roomy wagon afforded the only 
link between Brae Town and the outer world. 

The usual diurnal appearance of the Storm Castle 
carriage at Brae Town was the great event of the day at 
the hamlet, where Mrs. Vavasour was reverenced as if 
she had been indeed “a feudal queen.” The little 
school was wont to turn out at her approach and form 
in line, while the lads and lassies courtesied until she 
had passed, and the grown people were all emulous of 
recognition from her. 

But to-day an ominous gloom overhung the little 
hamlet. The children of the school, with their teacher, 
turned out and formed in line and made obeisance as 
usual, but their faces were all grave and even sorrowful. 
The smith came to his door and bowed, but his face was 
gloomy. The shopkeeper appeared, but his countenance 


THE RIGHTFUL HEIR. 


377 


had lost its usual jovial expression. These people were 
all tenants of Mrs. Vavasour, who owned the hamlet, 
and they had a clannish sentiment of loyalty to her, and 
their gloom and discontent were therefore very notice- 
able. 

“ I suppose Dugald has been stirring up the Brae 
Town people against me,” said the old lady, bitterly. 
“You see that though I’ve been a kind and indulgent 
landlady to them all their lives long, yet they are an 
ungrateful lot. I suppose they think my sun is setting 
and they must turn their faces to the rising sun, mean- 
ing Dugald. They will find their fawning wasted ; 
Dugald can never benefit them.” 

The coachman was driving at a walk, his face turned 
eagerly in the direction of the manse in the evident hope 
of beholding his deposed young master. 

Edda began to tremble, and drew her vail over her 
face. 

The centenarian compressed her shriveled lips, her 
nose and chin nearly meeting, and with a hard, repellant 
face and malignant gaze stared straight before her. 

As the chariot neared the manse gate the old minister 
came out and held up one hand deprecatingly. The 
coachman looked at his mistress and stopped. 

“ I hear, dear madam,” said Mr. Macdougal, agita- 
tedly, “ that Miss Cameron has lost favor in your eyes, 
and that you have sent her home. Oh, Mrs. Vavasour, 
there can no longer be any obstacle to your reconcilia- 
tion with your descendant. Will you not alight and 
enter my house ?” 

The venerable lady turned her repelling face toward 
the minister and said, coldly : 

“ No. Permit us to pass on.” 

“ But one word more,” pleaded the minister. 


378 


THE RIGHTFUL HEIR. 


He looked toward the manse, and made a gesture with 
his hand to someone looking out of the window. 

The manse door opened, and a young man came 
swiftly down the path to the gate. 

This young man was Dugald Vavasour, the disinherited 
descendant of the lady of Storm Castle, and the lover of 
Edda Brend. 

He was of commanding height and bearing, with 
square shoulders, broad chest, and a swinging gait. He 
was graceful and handsome, with a grand head, a wide 
forehead, a firm, proud mouth and a p'air of wistful blue 
eyes. His face was full of power and character, and was 
also strangely winning. 

He opened the gate and came out to the chariot. The 
window in each door was lowered. The minister gave 
place to him, and Dugald Vavasour advanced to the 
window and said, in a tender pleading, yet as one who 
respects himself, and with a sort of proud humility : 

“Grandmother, let us be friends !” 

He held out his hand to her. She struck it aside 
fiercely, and turned her keen, malignant gaze upon him. 

“ You come to me with a speech like that,” she cried, 
“after your year of contumacy and wilful disregard of 
my will — you want to make friends as if we were of equal 
age, and I was equally at fault with yourself ! Stand 
back, sir ! Saunders, drive on !” 

The coachman made no move to obey. 

Dugald looked at his venerable ancestress, and his face 
strangely softened. She was all the mother he had ever 
known, and, despite her tyranny and despotism, she had 
been good to him and he loved her. 

“Grandmother,” he said, his deep voice trembling, “I 
am sorry to have grieved and disappointed you. I have 
been unhappy since I left you. I implore you to for- 
give me for my seeming disregard of your wishes, and to 


THE RIGHTFUL HEIR. 


379 


let me be to you what I once was. Let me devote 
myself henceforth to your comfort and happiness. Dear 
grandmother, I cannot forget how you once loved me. I 
love you still.” 

The venerable lady’s lips quivered, and a sudden soft- 
ness appeared in her eyes. She gasped for breath and 
bent forward as if to meet her descendant half-way in 
an embrace, but suddenly she started back, and all her 
features hardened, and a bitter sneer curled her withered 
lips, and a malignant scowl gathered in folds upon her 
forehead. 

“I see!” she said, with sarcastic emphasis. “Mr. 
McKay has told you that you have risked your inheri- 
tance by your mad folly, and you want to repair your 
mistake. You are too late, sir. My will is made, 
and you will receive but a single shilling of all my 
wealth. Stand aside. Saunders, drive on !” 

The command was given this time in a tone the coach- 
man dared not disobey. He gathered up his reins and 
slowly moved his horses. Dugald Vavasour, his proud 
face flushing, stepped back and stood erect with arms 
folded across his chest. Mrs. Vavasour looked straight 
before her with a rigid face which was yellower than 
usual. But Edda, flinging back her vail, glanced back- 
ward toward her lover, her saucy face sparkling like a 
star. 

In an instant, as he beheld that radiant brunette 
beauty, Dugald Vavasour’s countenance grew eager and 
startled. He made a start forward, but the chariot was 
proceeding at a swifter pace, and he restrained himself. 
There was a passionate eagerness in his voice as he de- 
manded : 

“ Who is she, Mr. Macdougal ? — the young girl in the 
chariot ?” 


380 


THE RIGHTFUL HEIR. 


“Mrs. Vavasour’s new companion, sir,” replied the 
minister. “ Mrs. Vavasour has had six companions dur- 
ing the past year, but they all tire of the castle and its 
loneliness, and of the caprices and eccentricities of their 
employer. This young girl is English, and has not been 
here long, but by some odd chance she has quite won 
the old lady’s heart. I think her saucy independence, 
and her bright ways, have captivated Mrs. Vavasour in 
spite of herself. Her name is Miss Brend.” 

The young man’s face lit with a bright glow, but he 
was silent. The chariot proceeded a little distance be- 
yond the kirk, and then turned to retrace its course. 
Dugald Vavasour still stood with folded arms at the 
manse gate as his ancestress passed, bnt she did not 
look at him, else she would have been worse enraged at 
the brightness of his countenance. But Edda marked 
the change in him with a great and secret joy. 

The chariot rolled on down the street and stopped at 
the variety shop. The shopkeeper brought out a few 
newspapers and letters, this being the carrier’s day. 
The vehicle, with its occupants, then proceeded home- 
wards. 

There was a letter from Miss Powys for Edda, which 
the girl put in her bosom unopened. The remainder of 
the letters were for Mrs. Vavasour, and all of little 
importance. 

The old lady was very silent during the wearisome 
ascent of the mountain, and on arriving home proceeded 
directly to her own rooms.- Edda went to her chamber, 
and, first of all, read her letter. It was guarded, and 
evidently written with a view to falling into hostile 
hands ; but there was a vein of secret tenderness run- 
ning through it that made it very delicious to the girl. 

Having read it, Edda locked it up among her few 
treasures, and dressed for dinner. 


THE RIGHTFUL HEIR. 


381 


Mrs. Vavasour was present at dinner in full dress, but 
looked even more shriveled and yellow than she had 
yet done, and seemed strangely weary. If she were sor- 
rowful, she did not permit the fact to appear. She was 
unusually vivacious, and talked incessantly. But after 
dinner she did not visit the drawing-room as usual, re- 
tiring instead to her own boudoir. 

“ Come to my rooms at ten o’clock, Miss Brend,” said 
the old lady, as Edda conducted her to her own especial 
wing. “ I would be alone now, but I want to see you 
before I sleep.” 

Edda promised to return, and so left her. The state 
drawing-room was not lighted this evening, and Edda 
went up to her chamber. Looking out of her window, 
she saw that the night was light and pleasant. She was 
dressed in rose-colored silk, with dainty lace about her 
neck and arms, and she wore pink coral jewelry in her 
ears and on her neck. She looked “ rare and radiant ” 
in the splendor of her dark loveliness, her eyes shining, 
a red bloom on her sancy mouth, a pink full-blown rose 
nestling among her jetty ringlets. She glanced at her 
reflection in the mirror critically, and then drew over 
her head the soft hood of a snowy opera cloak which 
she gathered about her shoulders. 

“ I’ll take a little stroll on the terrace,” she thought. 
“ Perhaps, but it’s not likely, Dugald may come up to 
see me.” 

* She flitted down the stairs all white and pink, like 
some radiant vision, and out at the great entrance door, 
which was unlocked. She glided down to the terrace 
and walked back and forth in the brightness of the night, 
unconscious that she was seen by Mrs. Vavasour her- 
self, as the venerable lady sat in the darkness at the win- 
dow of her dressing-room. Edda believed her employer 
to be in the boudoir, whose windows looked in another 


382 


THE RIGHTFUL HEIR. 


direction, and she had chosen this terrace for her pro- 
menade because it could not be overlooked by the ser- 
vants. 

“A bonny lassie !” muttered the old dame — “a bonny 
lassie, and as good as bonny. I’ve done well in making 
her my heiress. Better to give it to her than to utter 
strangers or to charities. She’ll do good with it, and 
my money will make her happy.” 

She watched the young girl with a growing tenderness. 

Meanwhile Edda, busied with her own thoughts and 
dreams, paced to and fro on the terrace, sometimes 
passing beyond the range of her employer’s vision. The 
pink silk robe trailed on the marble, and the white hood 
fell back from the dainty dusky head, as Edda continued 
to move back and forth with the swift, impetuous grace 
that distinguished her. 

“ I’m afraid he won’t come !” the girl thought, paus- 
ing and leaning upon a tall marble urn crowning one of 
the pillars of the balustrade. “ Of course he would not 
come to Storm Castle. Yet I know that he has not for- 
gotten me and his visit to the wild Yorkshire moor.” 

She was standing thus like a statue, when a manly 
figure suddenly appeared at the further end of the ter- 
race and approached her, unseen by her. 

“ It’s Dugald !” whispered Mrs. Vavasour to herself, 
with a strange thrill. “ He means to appeal to her to 
intercede for him. Perhaps McKay told him that the 
girl’s to be my heiress. What will he say to her ?” 

She watched the pair breathlessly. 

As Dugald’s steps came nearer to her, Edda heard 
them, started, and turned. She was white, but calm as 
marble. 

“Mr. Dugald Mack !” she exclaimed, in seeming sur- 
prise. 

“Dugald MacFingal Vavasour !” said her lover, halt- 


COMING- TO TERMS. 


383 


ing. “ Pardon me, Edda, for not giving you my whole 
name last autumn, but I am to be known only as 
Dugald Mack while I live. I am Dugald Mack, your 
lover. You will not turn from me, Edda ? My darling, 
I thought I had lost you. I have been nearly wild with 
grief. Come to me, Edda, my darling — come !” 

He opened his arms to her, his face transfigured with 
a mighty love and tenderness for her. 

'And Edda, with a glad spring, flew to his embrace. 

“ Well, upon my soul !” ejaculated old Mrs. Vavasour, 
at her window, utterly bewildered. “ What does this 
mean ? Does the girl know him ? Are they in a con- 
spiracy to outwit me ? I’m afraid they are a pair of 
vipers together. I’m finding the girl out in time. 
Thank Heaven it’s not too late !” 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

COMING TO TERMS. 

The Earl of Charlewick shrank back from the prof- 
fered hand of the villainous stranger, still oppressed by 
that first fearful shock of recognition, still struggling 
with his first irrepressible sense of horror. He was con- 
scious that Lord Clair was regarding him curiously ; 
that the cabman was staring at him ; that one or two in- 
quisitive passers had become bystanders ; and with his 
Herculean will he conquered the vulture-like emotions 
tearing at his heart, and reassuming his usual domineer- 
ing superciliousness, he said, hoarsely : 

“Out of my way, fellow. You mistake, Annoy me 
further, and I'll call the police,” 


384 


COMING TO TERMS. 


The. .ruffianly stranger laughed mockingly. 

“You call the police — you, Spanish Bob !” he jeered. 
“ Then this here’s the age of merrycles. Call the police ! 
That is a good one. You were always a cool one, that’s 
a fact. And you pretend not to know Jim Dingo when 
you see him. You can’t gammon me, old pal, and you’d 
best not try it on.” 

The earl bit his lips angrily. A murderous look 
gleamed in his Spanish eyes. He put his hand to his 
bosom, as if to draw a weapon. 

“You are mistaken in me, fellow,” he said, haughtily. 
“ I warn you to clear out, or I’ll shoot you down like a 
dog.” 

“ That’s Spanish Bob all over,” said the man who had 
called himself Jim Dingo. “ Always ready with the pistol 
or knife. As if I didn’t know you as well as I know my- 
self. See here, old pal — ” 

The earl crested his head and looked over the group 
that was gathering around him. Evidently his lordship 
was driven at bay. He looked dark and desperate 
enough for murder, but he was about to commit an act. 
of cool deliberateness of which any one having noticed 
his recent terror would have deemed him incapable — and 
that act was to summon the police, as he had threatened. 

If chanced, singularly enough, for policemen are sup- 
posed to be not at hand when wanted, that an officer 
was in view. The earl beckoned to him. As the uni- 
formed official hastened to approach, Lord Charlewick 
said, in his haughtiest manner : 

“This person seems to be intoxicated, and is making 
himself very annoying to passers.” 

The policeman, receiving a hint of Charlewick’s 
identity from the clerk of the hotel, who had come out, 
was zealous in the discharge of his official duties. He 


COMING TO TERMS. 


385 


seized the unfortunate Jim Dingo by the coat collar, and 
said : 

“ I will take the vagabone to the police station, my 
lord, and your lordship shall be informed when he’ll be 
brought up, so that your lordship may appear against 
him.” 

“ 'Lordship ! * ” muttered Jim Dingo. 

The earl slipped a half-crown secretly into the officer’s 
hand, and then stepped quietly into the cab, Lord Clair 
following suit. 

“To the Alexandra!” said the baron, importantly. 

The cabman touched his horses, and the vehicle went 
swiftly down the street. ^ 

“ The Alexandra /” muttered Jim Dingo, under his 
breath. 

The officer slipped his money into his pocket and 
turned upon his prisoner sharply. 

“Come, you vagabone,” he said, roughly. “You’re 
wanted at the police station, you are. You’ll be learnt 
to assault noble heads — in the public street, too !” 

Jim Dingo submitted meekly to the rude grasp of the 
officer, who bore him onwards as a hawk bears its prey. 

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the prisoner, humbly, 
“but it was all a mistake. I took the noble lord for an 
old acquaintance. What may the earl’s name be, sir ?” 

“It may be a good many things which it ain’t,” was 
the caustic response. “ The noble lord you assaulted is 
the Earl of Charlewick — that’s who he is. Now, no 
more of your lip.” 

“ The Earl of Charlewick /” whispered Jim Dingo to 
himself. 

“ What’s that you’re muttering ?” demanded the 
officer. 

“ I was saying, sir,” said Jim Dingo, with a most flat- 
tering respectfulness, “ that this here is all a mistake. I 


e 


386 


COMING TO TEEMS. 


hain’t assaulted no one, least of all the noble earl. I’m 
a stranger in London, being a sailor, and it might harm 
me to be took up, even if I’m not guilty. The noble 
earl won’t appear against me, being as I’ve committed no 
assault, and so, sir, if you’ll let me go, I won’t mind 
making you a present of a fi’ pun note for the trouble as 
you’ve been put to.” 

The officer was evidently impressed with this appeal. 
His convictions of his prisoner’s guilt were apparently 
greatly shaken. 

“Well, it may be as you say,” he remarked, slackening 
his gait, “and your being a sailor accounts for your 
hignorance of the hearl’s identity. Your hexplanations 
suttingly puts a different look on the matter. But I 
don’t believe in you,” he added, “ nor that you’ve got no 
ft’ pun note.” 

Jim Dingo hastened to produce the amount of money 
in question, displaying a Bank of England note of un- 
doubted genuineness. The officer eyed it greedily. 
Five pound notes did not often fall into his hands. 

“ Take it,” said Dingo. “ It’s all a mistake, you 
know.” 

The officer glanced about him, and secretly took the 
note, and as secretly consigned it to one of his pockets. 

“ I see now that it was a mistake,” he said, “ but I can’t 
let you go for all that, my fine fellow. Rules is rules, 
and I have to be pretty ticklish careful in order to keep 
my place. But there’s a corner yonder, and my grip on 
your coat ain’t so strong as it looks, and if you should 
break away and run for it, I might not be able to catch 
you. Mind your eye, now,” he added, more loudly. 
“ No shuffling, you vagabone !” 

They proceeded quietly to the corner. At that point, 
strangely enough, Mr. Dingo broke from the officer’s 
grasp, and dashed away at a break-neck speed down the 


COMING- TO TERMS. 


387 


neighboring street. The officer hastened in pursuit, but 
so heavy were his movements, that his late prisoner suc- 
ceeded in plunging into* another street, and in com- 
pletely escaping from him. 

While Mr. Dingo had been undergoing these experi- 
ences, the gentleman whom he had mistaken for “ Spanish 
Bob” was in a scarcely more agreeable frame of mind 
than he. 

The earl and Lord Clair were silent for some moments 
after turning out of Piccadilly. Then the former noticed, 
with annoyance, that the baron was surveying him with 
a keener scrutiny than ever before. 

“ What’s the matter ?” he asked, testily. 

“ Nothing particular, only I was thinking how deuced 
odd it was that fellow should call you ‘ Spanish Bob.’ 
You are half Spanish, you know.” 

“ That was it — my Spanish looks misled him.” 

“ I thought for a minute,” said the baron, watching 
the earl in a cat-like way, “ that you were going to faint. 
There was an awful look on your face of fear and hor- 
ror. And the next minute I was sure you meant to shoot 
the rascal in his tracks.” 

The earl forced a nervous laugh. 

“ You’ve a lively imagination, Clair. The truth is, I’ve 
got an infernal temper, and that scoundrel aroused it. 
But as to fearing him — preposterous ! Why, I never 
saw him before in all my life. I was nervous, upset at 
Miss Clair’s disappearance from Hartley’s Hotel, and 
angry at myself for being cheated by Ronald, ana then 
when this last annoyance occurred I was for the moment 
beside myself.” 

The baron accepted this explanation with a smiling 
and perfectly apparent incredulity which secretly en- 
raged the earl. The latter was moody during the re- 
mainder of the drive to their hotel. 


388 


COMING TO TEEMS. 


“ As you seem still upset by your singular adventure 
in Piccadilly, Charlewick,” said the b^iron, maliciously, 
“ I’ll take a hansom and mak%a few calls among my ac- 
quaintances, with whom possibly I may discover Hel- 
lene, while you are recovering yourself. I shall be back 
to dinner at six, and we will then discuss matters. Au 
revoir 

The fat baron alighted from the cab, and summoned 
a passing empty hansom and rode away in triumph. 
The earl settled the cab-hire, and stalked gloomily into 
the hotel and up to his room. 

“ Gods !” he muttered. “ What brought that fellow to 
England — to London ? I thought him upon the other 
side of the globe. His presence in London, his recogni- 
tion of me, place me in fearful peril. The secret of my 
life is threatened to be divulged to the world ! I can- 
not appear against him at the police station, and he is 
likely to learn there my name and address. I’m bound 
to have trouble with the fellow, and I see only one way 
out of it !” 

And again in his desperate black eyes gloomed the 
spirit of murder. * 

He sat there brooding over the fateful meeting with 
Jim Dingo, when his door softly opened and the object 
of his thoughts entered his very presence. 

The earl leaped to his feet and sprung toward the 
bell-pull. 

The disreputable-looking stranger coolly locked the 
door, and exclaimed : 

“ Hold on a minute before you ring. If that bell 
peals before I’ve said my say, it will peal your knell !” 

The earl grasped the bell-pull, and hesitated. 

“What do you want?” he demanded, haughtily. 
“ How come you here ? Do you know who I am ?” 

“ I do,” was the prompt response. “ You are the Earl 


COMING TO TERMS. 


389 


of Charlewick, alias Spanish Bob. You were my chum 
for ten years out Tasmania. Don’t I know you ? I’ll 
swear to your identity, and more, I’ll fetch witnesses to 
prove the truth of what I say if you deny it or have me 
kicked out of this hotel.” 

“You are under some delusion,” said the earl, dom- 
ineeringly, — “some singular delusion.” 

“ If I was to tell all I know in a court of justice,’' 
declared Jim Dingo, significantly, “ the court would labor 
under the same delusion also. You always was a high- 
handed feller, Spanish Bob, and a high-headed one, too, 
but I never knew you had claims on a corrynight — a 
earl’s crown, you know. But what I say I can prove. 
Remember that there scar on your shoulder where you 
got the knife wound I nussed you through? You’re an 
ungrateful dog, Spanish Bob, but the scar’s there yet on 
your shoulder to speak for you. And two or three of 
the boys are in England now. They’ll swear to you. 
Why, I can make out as black a case against you, if you 
declare war against me, as ever swung a chap at the old 
Bailey. If you deny your identity another minute,” he 
added, threateningly, “ I’ll find out the next heir to the 
earldom of Charlewick and tell him your whole cursed 
story. Then we’ll hear a buzz all through England !” 

The earl wavered. His hand on the bell-rope trem- 
bled. He had the brutal soul of the Spanish matador ; 
he was fierce, cruel, vindictive, remorseless ; and yet it 
seemed that there ran a strange vein of cowardice 
through his nature. Else, he felt himself so utterly in 
this man’s power that he deemed resistance useless. 

“ Suppose I own I’m Spanish Bob, what then ?” he 
asked. 

“Why, then, we’ll come to terms,” said Jim Dingo. 
“ That’s the next step in the programme. You’ve got a 
terrible secret, the revelation of which to the world 


390 


HOW DINGO S SILENCE WAS SECURED. 


would destory you. Now I’m willing to keep the secret 
from the boys, from everybody, provided I’m paid for 
it. I’ve got my price. Now buy me up, body and soul.” 

Jim Dingo flung himself into a chair by the centre- 
table. The earl had a long, hard struggle with himself, 
then he dropped the bell-rope and came forward, flinging 
himself into a chair opposite Dingo’s, keeping the table 
thus between them, and said, sullenly : 

“You’ve got the upper hand, Dingo. We must come 
to terms.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

how dingo’s silence was secured. 

The announcement that Lord Charlewick would 
“ come to terms ” seemed especially satisfactory to Mr. 
Dingo. He was silent for a few minutes and deeply 
meditative, evidently considering what terms to exact 
as the price of his silence. At last he said : 

“ I'm glad to see you so reasonable, Spanish Bob. I’d 
hate to denounce you, especially when I can make such 
a good living off of you. You’ll be a regular mine of 
wealth to me. What is this here earldom of Charlewick 
worth a year ?” 

“Twenty thousand pounds,” said the earl, sullenly. 

“Treble that, I’ll warrant,” said Dingo, shrewdly. 
“You wouldn’t own up the whole income to me, it isn’t 
likely. Who’s the next heir ?” 

“ See here, Dingo, I won’t submit to be cross-ques* 
tioned. Let us mak§ our bargain. How much money 
do you want ?” 


how dingo’s silence was secured. 


391 


“ I choose to be answered first,” said Dingo, doggedly. 
“ Refuse to answer me, and take the consequences. 
Who is the next heir to you, I say ?” 

“ My nephew, Lord Ronald Charlton.” 

“ Is he rich ?” 

“ Poor as a church-mouse. He hasn’t a penny that 
he can call his own beyond a beggarly two hundred a 
year.” 

“ Hum, I’ll make some inquiries before I believe that,” 
said Dingo, cautiously. “ Are you on good terms with 
this here Lord Ronald ?” 

“ No ; I hate him.” 

“Where do you live?” queried Dingo. “Where’s 
your home, your viller, you know ?” 

“ My home is at my ancestral seat of Charlewick-le- 
Grand, in Devonshire,” replied the earl, chafing under 
all thisi close questioning. “ What has all this to do 
with our question of terms ?” 

“ I’m a satisfying of my curiosity,” said Dingo, coolly. 
“ I’m so surprised to see you up in the world, a earl and 
so forth, that I can hardly realize it. To think I’ve been 
pal to a earl that now is ! What wouldn’t the boys give 
for a knowledge of my discovery ! What a sensation 
your story’d make in the Times! You haven’t took 
your seat in the House of Peers yet, I suppose ? I won- 
der what them there peers would say to the story of 
your antecedents. I suppose you’re a ginnywine peer, 
and not an impostor in a dead man’s boots, eh, as they 
suspect the Tichborne claimant of being ?” added 
Dingo, suspiciously. “ Are you the Simon Pure, the 
real original earl’s son ?” 

“I am!” said the earl, angrily. “I was Lord Odo 
Charlton, the son of the late earl, by his first wife, a 
Spanish lady of rank.” 

“ Exactly so,” said Dingo, in a dubious tone. “ Now 


392 how dingo’s silence was secured. 

what do you propose to offer me, my lord ?” and his 
voice sounded mocking. “ Make your offers. If they 
don’t suit, I’ll tell you so.” 

The earl glared at the fellow with a murderous hatred 
in his Spanish eyes, as he answered, forcing himself to 
speak quietly : 

“ I can’t make you my valet, Dingo, that’s out of the 
question. The baron— the gentleman who was with me 
in Piccadilly — would recognize you. And I can’t have 
you near me in any capacity where I shall be obliged 
to look upon your face, or to hear wondering comments 
upon my taste in employing you.” 

“So far well,” said. Dingo, calmly. “I couldn’t ac- 
cept of no sittivation as valet. I sha’n’t work any 
more.” 

“ Then what shall you do ? What do you want of 
me ?” 

“ I want an income of a thousand pounds a year as 
long as I live,” replied Mr. DingQ, coolly. “ And I want 
it in the form of an annuity which you must buy to- 
morrow, so that if you die I shall be provided for.” 

“ Then what hold shall I have upon you that you 
won’t blow on me as soon as your annuity is paid for?” 
demanded the earl. “ No, no. I’ll give you a hundred 
pounds a year cash so long as I live, if you keep the 
secret.” 

“ It won’t do, Spanish Bob. Say a thousand a year, 
and it’s a bargain.” 

The earl reluctantly assented. 

“ I’ll take the first payment now,” said Dingo. “ I 
want a thousand pounds down.” 

“I haven’t the money with me. I shall have to go to 
Coutts’ for it,” said the earl, desperately. “ My father 
banked there, and I do the same.” 

“ I’ll go with you or await your return here,” said 


how dingo’s silence was secured. 


393 


Dingo, quietly. “ I gave the servant a shilling to let me 
come up, and you can say to him that I’m an old ser- 
vant of yours, he, he ! awaiting your return.” 

“You cannot remain here in my absence, Dingo. You 
must go away before I do, and you must not be seen 
with me. I will not risk exposure through your greed 
and folly. We can meet somewhere this evening, any- 
where you say, and I’ll deliver the money to you,” de- 
clared the earl. 

“ Very well. Meet me at Trafalgar Square, at ten 
o’clock precisely, on the north side,” said Dingo, after a 
brief season of reflection. “ I know you, Spanish Bob, 
and I shall come prepared for treachery. If you intend 
to play any games on me you had better think twice 
about it.” 

“Am I likely to play games on you when I’m in your 
power ? I shall do my part in good faith — see that you 
do yours in good faith also. Dios ! If you bring any 
of your pals to witness the meeting, or overhear us, or 
to catch sight of me, you’ll rue it ! We’ll meet in the 
shadow, mind that, and I shall come disguised. You 
won’t make much if you attempt to have your pals rec- 
ognize me.” 

Dingo protested that he should act in good faith, and 
after some further conversation he arose to take his 
leave. He unlocked the door and was standing near it, 
when it opened abruptly and Lord Clair entered the 
room. 

He halted at the threshold, and stared from the earl 
to Dingo in startled surprise. 

The earl turned livid and stood speechless. 

“ That drunken wretch here !” cried the baron. “ He 
has absolutely tracked you home, Charlewick. Let me 
summon the servants — the police.” 

“ Don’t disturb yourself, sir,” said Dingo, ironically. 


394 


how dingo’s silence was secured. 


“ I ain’t a doin’ of no harm. I’m only an old valet of his 
lordship’s, as he had in foreign parts, and he didn’t 
know me at first when we met in Piccadilly.” 

“ But you called him Spanish Bob,” said the baron, 
reflectively. 

“Which I ask his lordship’s pardon for being so dis- 
respectful,” said Dingo, with a meekness which struck 
Lord Clair as extremely suspicious. “ I was in liquor, 
or I should have been incapable of such language. 
Good-morning, my lords, with my humble duty.” 

He bowed low to the earl and the baron with a hu- 
mility which seemed to partake of mockery, and then, 
crumpling his greasy cap in his hands, and with a broad, 
unpleasing smile on his sinister visage, he sidled out of 
the room and was gone. 

“ A curious person, Charlewick,” said the baron, 
smoothly ; “ looks like a house-breaker or some such 
lawless person, I should say. And so he was a'valet of 
yours? In what part of the world, may I ask, was he 
your valet ?” 

“In South America,” replied Charlewick, yawning. 

“ Odd that you didn’t recognize your old servant in 
Piccadilly, eh, Charlewick ?” 

“ Not at all,” said the earl, in a tone of supreme indif- 
ference. “ He’s changed for the worse since I employed 
him. He was a decent servant, temperate, respectable 
and honest, but he’s been a sailor since, he tells me, and 
has learned bad habits, and is poor. He begged me to 
take him into my service again, but that is impossible.” 

“ Clearly so,” assented Lord Clair. “ Odd, though, 
that he called his former master by the low and famil- 
iar title of Spanish Bob ! And odd, too, that he called 
you his old ‘pal.’ Deuced odd, Charlewick !” 

The earl walked away to the window, shrugging his 
shoulders. There was a dark and ugly look on his 


how dingo’s silence was secured. 


395 


swarthy face which the smooth and smiling baron did 
not fail to mark. 

“ I suppose that you heard the fellow’s apology that 
he was in liquor at the moment of so accosting me,” 
said the earl, with smothered annoyance. 

“ Yes, I heard,” said Lord Clair, calmly. “I don’t 
care to pry into your private business, Charlewick, but I 
have a right to know something of your past life, seeing 
that you expect to marry my daughter, you know. I’m 
not too particular, Heaven knows. Your title and wealth 
will cover a multitude of sins. But my curiosity is 
aroused. You disappeared mysteriously in the night, 
twenty years ago, were absent full twenty years, and re- 
appeared as mysteriously as you went. You say you 
spent all those years in South America, but you don’t 
say where or how. Until this morning I have seen no 
one who ever met you during those twenty years, but 
suddenly crops up by the merest accident a hang-dog 
looking fellow, with a visage that ought to hang him, 
and hails you as ‘Spanish Bob’ and ‘old pal.’ And at 
sight of the fellow you glare as upon a ghost of a man 
you had murdered ! I see that your twenty years ab- 
sence has its mystery.” 

“ Nonsense,” said the earl, harshly. “ If you choose 
to set aside my explanation for some romantic theory of 
your own, you can do so, but I shall adhere to my 
original statements.” 

“ Naturally,” said Lord Clair, dryly? “ What else can 
you do? Strange that the man was not taken to the 
station-house. I wonder how he escaped the police- 
man.” 

“ Your return so soon was unexpected,” said the earl, 
changing the subject abruptly. “ You said you should 
not return until late in the afternoon.” 

“ Yes, I remember ; but I concluded to return and 


396 


how dingo’s silence was secured. 


ask you to accompany me. I hope my return was not 
inopportune,” he added, maliciously, “and that I did 
not interrupt your interview with Mr. — Mr. Jim Dingo 
— is not that his name ?” 

The earl’s swart face flushed yet more angrily, but he 
forced himself to answer, though with a scant courtesy 
indeed. 

The baron made no further allusions to the earl’s 
former “valet,” but it is not to be supposed that, though 
his tongue was silent, the subject was cast out from his 
thoughts. To the contrary — the less he said the more 
active was his mind. He invited Lord Charlewick to 
accompany him upon his tour of visits, and the earl 
complied. 

They made various fruitless visits before two o’clock 
of the afternoon, and Charlewick then withdrew himself 
from his companion, and made his way alone to the 
Strand and to the banking-house of Coutts ^nd Com- 
pany. He drew a thousand pounds in Bank of England 
notes in a neat packet, thrust it into an inner pocket of 
his coat, and moodily returned to the Alexandra Hotel. 

Lord Clair rejoined him in the coffee-room of the 
hotel about seven o’clock, and the two dined together. 

“ I’ve found no trace of Hellene,” said the baron, 
devoting himself with undiminished appetite to his din- 
ner. “ No one has seen her. I’ve been served with no 
legal papers yet, and I think, Charlewick, that Hellene 
desires to avoid notoriety, and seeks first to place herself 
under the matronly care of some lady whose very name 
will be an effectual guard to her against scandal. The 
season is drawing to a close. I find many fashionable 
people already gone into the country, and I’m persuaded 
that Hellene is already out of town ; so sure am I of 
this that I shall visit all the railway stations in the 
morning. Of course, Hellene would be disguised.” 


how dingo’s silence was secured. 397 

He devoured his mayonnaise with the relish of a 
gourmet. The fat baron was devoted to the gratification 
of his senses, and most especially to that of the palate, 
and no anxiety for the welfare of his daughter or his 
own pecuniary prospects, as affected by her proceedings, 
could seriously affect his appetite. 

“ Yes, she would be disguised,” said the earl, absently. 

“TVe might go up to the North-western station this 
evening,” suggested Lord Clair. “ Suppose we order a 
cab and go up after dinner ?” 

“Impossible. I am not at liberty — that is, I have a 
call to make this evening.” 

“ An engagement, eh ? Not with Mr. Jim Dingo ?” 
remarked the baron, jocularly. 

The words struck home. Charlewick’s sudden start 
betrayed that his confederate had hit the truth at the 
first fire. > 

“ You seem unable to get Mr. Dingo out of your head, 
Clair,” said the earl, savagely. “ Be good enough not 
to mention him again to me.” 

Charlewick arose and stalked away gloomily, his din- 
ner unfinished, and the baron saw him no more that 
evening. 

“ The mystery must be serious,” thought Lord Clair, 
“if the least allusion to Mr. Jim Dingo stirs up Charle- 
wick like a wild beast, and deprives him of his appetite. 
A man must be in a desperate mood when a lobster 
mayonnaise like that has no charms to soothe. I think — 
yes, I’m sure — that I shall look up Mr. James Dingo, and 
bribe him to communicate his secret to me. There’s no 
reason why I shouldn’t be in receipt of a great annual 
income from my friend and future son-in-law. I’ll keep 
an eye out for Mr. Dingo, and invest at any expense in 
his secret.” 


398 how dingo's silence was secured. 

With this secret determination, the earl’s friend and 
confederate resumed his dinner. 

The earl hurried out of the hotel into the streets. The 
night was dark above, but bright below with gaslights. 
A gray fog was creeping up from the Thames slowly, and 
a little later would overspread the scene, but now car- 
riages and pedestrians were moving busily in the streets, 
the shops were brilliant with lights, and all the splendors 
and miseries of London by gaslight were fully revealed. 

Lord Charlewick wandered to and fro for hours, his 
face blackening with his evil thoughts, an awful deter- 
mination brooding in his savage eyes. The demon of 
wickedness that had dwelt within him from his very 
birth was rampant to-night. All the baser qualities of 
his nature were aroused. The most terrible of crimes 
seemed to him in his present mood a mere incident, a 
most commonplace action. 

“I seem to stand at bay,” he muttered. “I don’t 
believe any of the boys are in England except Dingo. 
What cursed fatality brought about our meeting this 
morning? I know him well — a treacherous vampire ! 
I am .not safe while he lives. He is given to babbling 
in his cups. I cannot trust myself to his mercy — I dare 
not ! But that I had been born with a wild, reckless, 
dare-devil nature, I should never have been in his power. 
Gods ! What if he were to proclaim to the world the 
mystery of all these twenty years of my life ! The 
wretch must be mad. Knowing me as he did, how 
dared he venture to make himself my master? Has he 
forgotten that they who knew me as Spanish Bob used 
also to call me Devil Bob ?” 

He felt in a hidden pocket of his coat for a weapon he 
always carried on his person — a small steel stiletto of 
Spanish make, which had belonged to his own mother. 
That stiletto had been stained with blood more than 


how dingo’s silence was secured. 


399 


once since he had owned it, and it was as sharp and 
keen as when new. 

The earl was absorbed in his black thoughts, but not 
so much so as to forget his engagement with Jim Dingo. 
At ten o’clock punctually he was upon the north side of 
Trafalgar Square, but Dingo was not visible at the ap- 
pointed rendezvous. 

The fog, very like the November fogs, only less dense, 
had crept up and settled upon London like a great gray 
incubus. The gas-lamps in the square gleamed faintly 
and fitfully. The lions and the monument were hidden 
from view. There sounded the tramp of feet along the 
pavement ; there were heard the shouts of cabmen ; and 
there were seen shapes as shadows flitting through the 
grayness ; but the scene had the unreal aspect of scenes 
witnessed in dreams. The earl walked slowly to and 
fro, dark, savage and terrible. Like a spirit of evil he 
walked in the darkness, his eyes gleaming like coals, his 
breath hot like the blasting sirocco. 

Suddenly, out from the shadows a dusky figure ap- 
proached him. He recognized the step, even before he 
was accosted in the low voice of Jim Dingo. 

“That you, Spanish Bob?” asked the ruffian, peering 
at the earl fixedly. 

“Yes,” replied Charlewick, in a hoarse, strained voice. 
“ You are late.” 

“Better late than never,” laughed Dingo. “Got the 
squeemish, captain ?” 

“Yes; but I have something to say to you, and this 
square is altogether too public,” said Lord Charlewick. 
“Anybody could creep up behind us in the fog and 
hear all we say. Let us turn into the next street.” 

Dingo assented, and they turned into St. Martin’s 
Lane, where the fog seemed thicker and more like a 
funeral pall. 


400 


HOW DINGO S SILENCE WAS SECURED. 


“ Which of the boys are in England, did you say ?” 
asked Lord Charlewick, as they slowly proceeded. 

Dingo reiterated his statement of the morning, adding: 

“ You seem odd somehow to-night, Bob. If I didn’t 
know it was you, I swear I’d believe it was some other 
man, your voice and manner are so changed since morn- 
ing.” 

“ All fancy,” said the earl, trying to force a laugh. 
“ Before I pay you this money, Dingo, I want to be sure 
you haven’t betrayed me to some of your pals. If I can 
trust you, I’ll get you to do „ some dirty work for me, 
and I’ll pay you handsomely.” 

“Then I’m your man,” said Dingo, who had been 
drinking, and had lost his usual caution. “ I haven’t 
told a soul that you are in England, or that I have seen 
you, or that I was going to meet you. Give us your 
money, Bob, and I’ll strike a light and take a squint at 
it while you tell me what dirty work you’ve got to do. 
Gad, I haven’t seen a soul I know,” he added, indis- 
creetly, “since I met you this morning.” 

Lord Charlewick led the way out of St. Martin’s 
Lane into a narrow and dark street near at hand. 

“ Pity you will drink, Dingo,” he said. “ If you didn’t 
drink, you’d be twice as safe. I never drank to excess, 
you know. How dark it is here — darker than a black 
pocket. Here’s the money. It’s safe enough to strike 
a light here. Hold out your hand.” 

They came to a halt. The earl thrust his hand into 
his inner pocket. The packet of money was not in his 
hand when he withdrew it, but he grasped the Spanish 
stiletto with nerves like iron. 

“ Here, Dingo !” he said. 

The ruffian came nearer. 

There was a quick, sharp thrust of the stiletto — once 


how dingo’s silence was secured. 


401 


— twice — thrice — then Jim Dingo dropped to the ground 
like a log. 

The earl bent over him, raining desperate thrusts 
into the man’s chest and side. There was a stifled 
groan, a faint gurgle — and Dingo was still ! 

Lord Charlewick wiped his stiletto on his victim’s 
garments, thrust it into his pocket, and glided away 
like a shadow. 

He returned at once to his hotel. 

He hurried up the stairs and entered his sitting- 
room. He had believed Lord Clair to be out, but he 
found him lounging in an easy-chair, the room pro- 
fusely lighted. He started back involuntarily, but, re- 
covering himself, closed the door and advanced toward 
his companion. 

“ Back again ?” said the baron, gayly. “ It’s half past 
eleven by the clock. You’re out late, Charlewick. I 
got home half an hour since. And, by Jove ! such 
splendid luck as I’ve had ! I’ve discovered where Hel- 
lene is gone !” 

The earl stopped abruptly, but with averted face. 

“Where is she?” he_asked, huskily. 

“ I discovered that a young lady, deeply vailed and 
clad in mourning, and attended by an elderly lady, also 
deeply vailed, but neither otherwise disguised, took the 
mail train northward this morning. They had a maid 
with them. They seemed without escort, but I also 
ascertained that a young gentleman proceeded by the 
same train, and the description of the young gentleman 
tallies with that of Lord Ronald Charlton. They 
booked themselves to Leeds.” 

“ Leeds ! Whom do they know there ?” 

“No one. It’s my opinion that Hellene means to 
claim the protection of her old foremother, Mrs. Vava- 
sour, and that our fugitives are on their way to Storm 


402 THE LOVERS COME TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 

Castle, in the most secret recesses of the Scottish High- 
lands. We must post after them in the morning. 
Hellene does not mean to invoke the aid of the law 
until after she has seen Mrs. Vavasour. But the facili- 
ties of marriage in Scotland are very great, and we 
must lose no time in recovering Hellene before Lord 
Ronald marries her. I have given orders that we be 
called early. Are you satisfied with my diligence and 
success ?” 

Lord Charlewick turned toward the baron a face so 
haggard that the latter recoiled before him. 

“ What’s the matter with you, man ?” cried Lord Clair. 
“Are you ill? You looked like that this morning. 
Have you seen that Dingo again ? By Heaven ! there’s 
blood upon your clothes. • What have you been doing?” 

The earl looked down upon his garments. His white 
waistcoat bore a huge red stain where Dingo’s life- 
blood had spurted upon it in a great jet. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE LOVERS COME TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 

Blissfully unconscious of unfriendly scrutiny, and the 
dark suspicions against them to which their lover-like 
meeting had given rise in Mrs. Vavasour’s breast, Edda 
and Dugald gave themselves up for a few minutes 
to the fervor of that passionate embrace, and then the 
girl gently withdrew herself from his clasp, and re- 
treated a few steps from him, a sudden pallor obscuring 
the radiance of her beauty. 

“What is it, darling ?” asked her lover, in tones so 


THE LOVERS COME TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 403 


tender that they thrilled her lonely soul with strange, 
new happiness. “ Do you fear we shall be seen ?” 

He glanced toward the battlemented wing of the 
castle in which were situated the rooms of Mrs. Vava- 
sour. The windows were all dark, the shutters low- 
ered. He could not see the withered figure lurking 
behind the adjustable slats, nor the fierce, angry eyes 
that peered out upon him. 

“ No, I do not fear being seen,” said Edda, proudly, 
yet sorrowfully. “ Mrs. Vavasour is in her boudoir, 
and old Margery is in the housekeeper’s room. Mrs. 
Vavasour does not know that I am acquainted with you. 
Ah ! she is very bitter against you, Dugald, but I am 
sure she would never consent that you should marry 
me.” 

“ But I am my own master, Edda,” said her lover. 
“ I have bought nly freedom by the sacrifice of my 
grandmother’s favor and fortune. I find that I can 
support myself and you too in a humble, modest way. 
I am heir to no stately castle, Edda, darling, and to no 
grand fortune, but I have a pair of willing hands, a 
stout heart, and an active brain. I love you, dearest 
Edda, and, such as I am, I ask you to marry me.” 

Edda looked upon her lover with dusky, passionate 
eyes. Such as he was ! Ah, he seemed to her the 
grandest, noblest being on the earth ! 

“ I am no mate for you, Dugald,” she said, unsteadily. 
“ In the moment of our meeting, in the first gladness, I 
forgot all that stands between us !” 

“ And what does stand between you and me if we love 
each other, Edda?” cried the young man, ardently. 
“ Not my poverty?” 

“No, no. I have known poverty all my life till now. 
Not that, Dugald.” 

“ Not my grandmother’s displeasure?” 


404 THE LOVERS COME TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 


“ N — no, not that. I love the dear old lady, despite 
all her unreasonableness and prejudice, and all her 
despotic treatment of you, Dugald,” said the girl, flush- 
ing. “She has treated me kindly from the first, more 
as a guest than a hired companion, and I have known 
so little kindness in this world that I am very grateful 
to her.” 

“ My poor Edda ! But, indeed, my grandmother has 
a generous nature in spite of her faults. I' love her, else 
I should never have humbled myself to her to-day. I 
wish I might be friends with her,” said Dugald, sorrow- 
fully, “ but I cannot resign my life into her hands to be 
moulded as her caprice dictates ; I cannot perjure my- 
self, not even to gain her favor. But what is it stands 
between us, Edda ? You are not promised to marry 
another?” and his gaze dwelt upon her costly robes and 
jewels, and his noble face whitened. “Oh, Edda, I have 
loved you from the hour I first saw you ! I did not ask 
you to marry me last autumn, nor seek to bind you by 
a formal engagement, for I was poor and would not 
seek to take you from your uncle’s charge till I had a 
home, however humble, provided for you. But you 
must have known that I loved you, Edda. I went back 
lo London, and, inspired with my love for you, I worked 
hard by day and night. I am poor still, Edda, but I 
get three pounds a week on a daily paper, and I shall 
soon do better. I remember the time,” and his gaze 
wandered toward the castle, “ when a thousand pounds 
was not a large sum in my sight. Three pounds is a 
small income, but married couples do live on it. Could 
we not ? Edda, tell me I do not speak too late — that, 
if you will not marry me now, you will wait for me ? 
Tell me you are not betrothed to anyone else.” 

“ I am not, Dugald. I am free.” 


THE LOYERS COME TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 405 


A rapturous glow replaced the whiteness of the young 
man’s face. 

“ I know you love me, Edda. You have betrayed 
that much. I cannot guess what you should consider 
an obstacle between us — unless you fear that your uncle, 
Mr. Nizbit, will not consent. Have I guessed the ob- 
stacle at last ?” 

“ No, no, Dugald. As if I cared what that old snuff- 
box thought !” cried Edda, half-impatiently. “ I shall 
have to tell you, I see. Well, then, Mr. Nizbit is not 
my uncle.” 

“ I shan’t cry over that,” replied Dugald, cheerfully. 
“I never had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Nizbit but 
once, and then at Moor End post-office, but I was not 
enamoured of him.” 

“ Of course not. He’s a mere animated pill-box, a 
walking seidlitz-powder,” said Edda, with something of 
her old reckless gayety, despite her depression. “But, 
whining hypochondriac that he is, Dugald, he’s a 
broken-down gentleman, and his father was a man of 
fortune and position. As Mr. Nizbit’s niece, I should 
have been poor, but I could have talked of ‘my family.’ 
But here’s the whole secret, Dugald ; as the street 
urchin said, ‘When you see me, you see all there is of 
us.’ I've got no family.” 

“ But, Edda, I don’t want to marry a family,” said 
Dugald, smiling. “You are all I want.” 

“Yes, but you come of a haughty race, and are proud 
of your long and noble lineage,” said Edda. “I’ve 
heard of all the glories of the MacFingals. Mrs. Vava- 
sour has told me of the haughty old Highland chiefs 
who once dwelt in this castle — ” 

“ And ventured out with their followers and made 
forays upon peaceable people, and fought their enemies 
like tigers,” laughed Dugald. “ They were good enough 


406 THE LOVERS COME TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 

in their way, no doubt, but they can’t come between 
me and my happiness, Edda.” 

“And,” continu-ed Edda, “Mrs. Vavasour has ex- 
plained to me that the Vavasour blood is of old Nor- 
man strain, as noble as any blood in England, and that 
the Vavasour pride is only second to the pride of the 
MacFingals.” 

“ In short, you have learned all the old family tradi- 
tions, and have grown to think me a monster, Edda. 
But my pride consists in disdaining to do wrong, in a 
strict adherence to my sense of honor, and in being an 
upright Christian gentleman,” said Dugald, gravely. 
“ I do not despise the honorable reputation of my an- 
cestors. To the contrary, I thank them for transmitting 
to me a name they took care to leave unstained and 
honorable, and I shall never do aught to reflect dis- 
honor upon it. I am proud of my fair name, Edda, and 
glad that I can offer it as your own as not unworthy 
your acceptance. But my pride is not vain and empty. 
A man is what he is in himself, not what his ancestors 
were. I do not mean to shine by reflected light.” 

“ But like all of honorable lineage, you must of course 
ally yourself to a lady of equal birth,” said Edda, in a 
pained voice. “ Hear me, Dugald. I must tell you at 
once. I should have told you at the first and spared 
you all this pleading. I am not of kin to Mr. Nizbit. 
He brought me up as his niece because he was poor 
and was paid to do so,” and the lovely brunette face 
flushed again in the clear night-light. “ I must tell you 
all. My mother abandoned me in my infancy. My 
father met some disgraceful end before I was born, and 
his young widow, who had contracted a secret mar- 
riage with him, dared not avow that marriage.” 

“ But how can this affect you and me, Edda ?” 

“ Do you not understand ?” cried the girl, passion- 


THE LOVERS COME TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 407 


ately. “ Oh, Dugald, you make it hard for me to tell 
you. My mother lives — I have seen her. She is known 
by her maiden name, and I have never dared to call her 
mother. Think of it, Dugald. She is the lawful widow 
of a man who was unworthy of her, who died, perhaps, 
on the gallows or in prison — I only know that he is 
dead. The marriage being secret, my poor mother 
never dared own it after justice had overtaken him. 
My mother ! Ah ! never, except in the darkness of the 
night, alone in my bed, or in my prayers, have I dared 
to speak that sacred name ! My mother ! Dugald, she 
is a lady, grand and proud as any Vavasour, and she 
dare not own me, her lawful child ! I cannot even tell 
you her name. She has never acknowledged to me in 
words that she is my mother. But her heart has spoken 
to mine, and the secret of our relationship is buried 
between us. Not even for you, dear Dugald, can I 
unearth it !” 

Dugald Vavasour gained the girl’s side in two or 
three swift strides. He put his arms around her and 
drew her proud, wilful head to his breast. 

“ My darling,” he said, with an infinite love and sym- 
pathy, “is this all that stands between us? It is a 
heavy secret for you to bear, a heavy sorrow. The 
secret is not your own, and I do not wish to hear the 
lady’s name or rank ; but why should you banish me 
for your mother’s misfortunes ? If she did wrong in 
contracting a secret marriage, she has been terribly 
punished. But you are blameless, and you must not 
seek to fulfill the prediction that * the sins of the fathers 
shall be visited upon the children.’ Do not cast me 
from you through a mistaken sense of honor. I love 
you, respect you, and admire you in this hour more than 
I ever did before, my brave darling. I shall not give 
you up. My love shall prove a recompense for your 


408 THE LOVERS COME TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 

sorrows. Why, what is this obstacle you would raise 
between us ? An airy bubble which I can shatter at a 
breath !” 

With a gentle authority that would not brook resis- 
tance, with an ineffable yearning over her, he gathered 
her closer and kissed her forehead, eyes and mouth 
with a solemn sweetness that thrilled to the girl’s soul. 

The barrier she had imagined separating them had 
indeed proved only a bubble to be dissipated by a 
breath. 

Yet Edda struggled after a moment to assure herself 
of her great happiness, which seemed unreal and dream- 
like. 

“ Are you sure you will never repent your generosity, 
Dugald ?” she asked. 

“ I am not generous, dear, but the most selfish man in 
Scotland,” he replied, smiling. . “ But I am wilful, and 
would always have my way. You’ll find me impatient 
now, Edda, since I know you love me. How soon may 
I claim you, dear ?” 

The girl looked startled. 

“ It’s in a hurry you are, Mr. Dugald Mack,” she said, 
blushing and confused, yet arch and bright as usual. 
“I cannot leave Mrs. Vavasour at present. And I must 
write to — to my best friend, you know — ” 

“Your best friend next to me? Yes, I know, Edda. 
Poor lady, it must be her greatest grief that she can 
never claim you as her daughter. Write to her, and we 
will abide by her decision — if it’s not too adverse to us,” 
and Dugald smiled. “ I’m not sure, Edda, that I don’t 
prefer a downright family mystery to becoming nephew- 
in-law to Mr. Nizbit. He’s a sort of human nightmare.” 

The lovers paced the terrace arm-in-arm and talked, . 
while the centenarian watched them jealously, with a 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S BIRTHDAY. 


409 


hard, fierce, angry gaze that grew angrier with every 
moment. 

The young pair took no note of time until the stable- 
clock struck shrilly on the mountain air the hour of ten. 

Then Edda remembered her employer’s command, 
and exclaimed, hurriedly : 

“ I must go now, Dugald. Mrs. Vavasour wants to 
see me at ten. Good-night. Good-night.” 

“ I shall be on the terrace to-morrow evening, if there 
are no lights in my grandmother’s rooms on this side,” 
said Dugald. “ I shall expect you at eight. And if 
there are lights on this side the wing, I shall be in the 
lower garden. Good-night, my promised wife, my 
own !” 

They kissed each other lingeringly, and Edda sped 
away toward the castle. Dugald walked the terrace a 
little longer, his gaze fixed on the casket containing his 
treasure, and then he began his descent of the mountain. 

Edda ran up to her room and threw off her cloak, 
smoothed her hair, and tried to tone down the-radiance 
of her face. Scarcely succeeding, she descended to 
Mrs. Vavasour’s wing and knocked upon the door of 
the boudoir. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

MRS. VAVASOUR’S BIRTHDAY. 

Edda’s knock was answered by the croaking voice of 
Mrs. Vavasour herself, who bade the girl enter. The 
old lady was standing in the centre of her apartment, 
her black eyes sparkling venomously, her face the in- 


410 MRS. vavasour’s birthday. 

carnation of witch-like malignancy. She leaned heavily 
upon her staff, and was shaking as with palsy. 

Old Margery was nowhere to be seen. 

“ I beg your pardon, Mrs. Vavasour,” said the girl, 
“ but I did not mean to be late.” 

“ Shut the door,” commanded Mrs. Vavasour, imperi- 
ously. 

Edda obeyed, her face flushing. 

The boudoir was well lighted. Mrs. Vavasour knitted 
her bristling white brows, and bent a searching glance 
into the honest, frank young face of her companion. 

“ Where have you been ?” she croaked. 

“ On the terrace, ma’am,” replied Edda. 

“ Humph ! she tells the truth,” muttered the old 
lady, inaudibly. “ But they’re all alike. She’s deceit- 
ful like Miss Cameron. We shall hear her lie presently.” 

Mrs. Vavasour sat down in a high-backed chair, and 
beckoned the girl to come nearer. 

“On the terrace, hey, at this hour?” the old lady 
demanded. “ Were you alone ?” 

The young girl hesitated ; then she answered, reluc- 
tantly : 

“ No, madam ; I was not alone. Shall I read to you 
now ? Or shall I sing to you ?” 

“ I am capable of dictating my own entertainments 
yet awhile,” said Mrs. Vavasour, coldly. “ I am not 
quite in my dotage, Miss Brend. Who was with you 
on the terrace ?” 

Edda’s face changed color. She was tempted to re- 
fuse an answer, but defiance would be worse than the 
truth, and she could not tell a falsehood. With a sud- 
den impulse, she moved forward with a swift impetu- 
osity, and sat down upon a hassock at the old lady’s 
feet, and looking up with her honest eyes, so soft and 
velvety, and full of appealing, she said ; 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S BIRTHDAY. 


411 


“ Dear Mrs. Vavasour, do not be angry. Mr. Dugald 
Vavasour was with me.” 

To say that the old lady was astonished at the frank- 
ness of this statement would be to understate the truth. 
She had expected prevarication and falsehood, but not 
simple honesty. 

“ Humph !” she said, slowly, studying the girl’s face 
with her angry eyes. “ And what did Dugald want of 
you ? Did he ask you to intercede for him with me ?” 

“ No, madam,” replied Edda ; “ I suppose he wouldn’t 
think that worth while, knowing how little influence I 
must have with you. But he spoke of you with love 
and sorrow. He is grieved because you won’t forgive 
him.” 

“ Did he come up the mountain to tell you that, and 
you a perfect stranger to him ?” 

“ Oh, no, ma’am,” and Edda’s face became incarna- 
dined with blushes, “ I’m not a stranger to him. VVe 
became acquainted last autumn in Yorkshire, where I 
lived, and we loved each other. I knew him as Dugald 
Mack, and never supposed he had any other name until 
I saw his picture in the castle gallery, and Mrs. Macray 
told me who he was. I’ve not seen him since last year 
till to-day. He saw me in the castle chariot, and came, 
up to see me to-night. I — I suspected he would come 
so I went out on the terrace.” 

“ Humph ! And what did he say to you ?” 

“ He asked me to marry him,” said Edda, bravely. 

“ And of course you refused him ?” 

“ Oh, no,” said Edda, naively. “ Why should I, madam ? 
I love him.” 

“ Oh, you love him ?” said the old lady, sarcastically. 

“Yes, madam; and he loves me. He earns three 
pounds a week — ” 

The old lady uttered a groan. 


412 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S BIRTHDAY. 


“Three pounds a week ! Good Lord ! A Vavasour 
living upon three pounds a week ! A MacFingal starv- 
ing and working for a crust to starve on !” 

“ I thought you wanted him to starve,” said Edda, 
honestly, with a look of surprise. “ You said such bitter 
things of him, madam, and you seem to hate him so. 
But he is rich now to what he was last year. Why, he 
has been too poor to pay his board for weeks together, 
but he is too honest to live upon other people, so he 
hired a little garret in London, and lived for weeks on 
oatmeal porridge, which he cooked himself. Oh, he is 
brave and honest as he is proud.” 

Mrs. Vavasour groaned again. The simple words of 
the young girl pierced through all her armor of pride 
and obstinacy, like so many knife-thrusts into her very 
heart. 

“I — I supposed that he — but never mind,” she said, 
with an effort. “And so he feels rich on three pounds 
a week — he, Dugald Vavasour, who was brought up as 
my heir, and who had an allowance of money every 
year that he was at Oxford that would have befitted a 
prince ! Why, I pay my butler more than three pounds 
a week !” 

“Dugald says that he shall have four pounds by-and- 
by, and that then we can afford to marry,” said Edda. 
“And we can. We love each other, and we can live 
cheaply. Dear Mrs. Vavasour, Dugald told me that he 
loved you, and this old castle, and the grand old moun- 
tain ; but he would be willing to be poor all his life, 
and you might give all your fortune to charities, if 
you’ll only forgive him and be kind to him again. He 
does not want your money, but he does want your love.” 

The old lady’s fierce eyes softened unconsciously. 

“ Did he tell you to say this to me ?” she asked. 

“No, madam; but your questioning has brought it 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S BIRTHDAY. 


413 


all out. I shouldn’t have dared to tell you of myself,” 
said Edda, simply. 

“ Humph ! Did Dugald see Mr. McKay this morn- 
ing ?” 

“No, madam. Dugald was gone to call upon an old 
friend, a farmer who lives a mile up the glen, when Mr. 
McKay passed through Brae Town. The lawyer was in 
an ill humor, the minister told Dugald, and did not 
stop.” 

“Humph !” muttered Mrs. Vavasour. “And Dugald 
is willing to marry a poor girl like you ?” 

“Yes, madam,” replied Edda, shrinking a little. “I 
am not his equal in point of social position ; I have no 
grand name, but he will give me his, and he loves me ; 
and if I am poor, why, so is he ; so there we are equal. 
I refused to marry him at first, but it’s me that he 
wants, you see, not money nor rank ; and so, finally, I 
told him Yes. I know you have discarded Dugald, Mrs. 
Vavasour, but I told him you would be worse angry if 
he married me.” 

“Look up at me, girl,” said the centenarian, sternly. 

Edda obeyed, wonderingly. 

Mrs. Vavasour put one skinny, yellow hand under 
Edda’s round chin, and turned up the girl’s face so that 
the light fell full upon it. It was an honest, saucy, 
bright young face, very grave now, very brave, too, and 
earnest and sweet. Not a shadow of guile was in one 
single feature, and the fearless, truthful eyes of dusky 
velvet met the old lady’s keen scrutiny unflinchingly. 
Mrs. Vavasour seemed to look into the girl’s very soul, 
and a pure and honest soul it was that had little to hide 
from her. 

After that long, strange gaze, she withdrew her hand 
and sighed very heavily. 


414 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S BIRTHDAY. 


“ Dugald could not find a better wife,” she said. “You 
are what you seem.” 

Edda bent forward and clung to the old lady’s knees. 

“Won’t you forgive Dugald, dear madam?” she 
pleaded. “ If he is proud and wilful, has he not in- 
herited those traits? Forgive me. I would not forget 
what is due to your venerable years and position, but I 
love you, and I love Dugald, and I want you to be 
friends.” 

“You love me? Why?” 

“ Because you have been good to me,” said Edda, 
simply. “And Dugald loves you, too. He says you are 
all the mother he ever knew. Won’t you let him come 
back again and devote himself to your comfort, and 
live with you, and take all your cares off your shoul- 
ders ? Dear madam, you will be a hundred years old 
to-morrow. Won’t you begin your second century in 
love towards Dugald ?” 

The girl clung to Mrs. Vavasour’s hand in beseech- 
ing, kissing and pressing it. The old lady’s features 
worked convulsively. Her beaked nose and her out- 
curved chin advanced upon each other and retreated 
again, and her shriveled mouth trembled strangely. 
Even her frame shook as with palsy. 

She had prepared to denounce the girl as a viper on 
her entrance, to turn her out of the .castle after over- 
whelming her with fierce abuse, but, in spite of herself, 
her suspicious nature, her obstinacy and self-will, Edda 
had disarmed her anger and touched her very soul. 
She was angry at herself for her unwonted tenderness 
of mood and softening of heart. 

With an effort to assert herself, she shook off the girl’s 
clasp, and exclaimed, harshly : 

“ Enough of this. Dugald has chosen his course ; 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S BIRTHDAY. 


415 


let him abide in it. No more, Miss Brend, no more. I 
will not hear it.” 

Edda dared not plead further. 

“I don’t want to hear any music to-night,” said the 
old lady. “ My nerves are all unstrung. You may 
leave me.” 

The young girl took her leave lingeringly. She had 
gained the door, when Mrs. Vavasour called to her. 

“You say you love me, Edda,” she said, in her harsh 
voice, but with a wistful look in her hard, cold eyes. 
“If you do, you may kiss me.” 

Edda moved swiftly to the old lady’s side, and bent 
over and kissed her on brow and eyes and lips with 
something of the tender solemnity her lover had ex- 
hibited in caressing her. 

“ They are Dugald’s kisses, too,” she whispered. 

And then the girl, wondering at her own audacity, 
flitted out of the room, and the door closed behind her. 

“I’m afraid I’ve made a fearful mistake,” groaned 
the old lady, on being left alone. “ But it’s not too 
late. If I choose, I can send in the morning for Du- 
gald. If Dugald had been here, I should have cele- 
brated the morrow grandly, as becomes my wealth. 
Only to think — to-morrow I shall be a hundred years 
old !” 

She arose, leaning on her staff, and went into her 
dressing-room. 

A great hollow stuffed chair was drawn up before the 
cheery blaze. She sank down into it shivering. At 
the same time the hall door opened, and old Margery 
came in, bearing a tray. 

“May I come in now, my leddy ?” she asked. “You 
sent me away hours ago, and told me not to come until 
you should ring ; but I’ve not heard you ring yet, and 
t’s past your bed-time.” 


416 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S BIRTHDAY. 


“ Yes, qome in, Margery,” said her mistress, wearily. 
“ Come in, woman.” 

“You look tired out and cold, my leddy,” said Mar- 
gery. “ Do you feel well, my leddy ?” 

“Yes; only tired and cold,” was the murmured re- 
sponse. “ I’ll get to bed, Margery. Think, woman, my 
century ends to-night. In the morning I shall enter 
upon my second century. How strange it seems !” 

Margery set down her tray, and knelt before her mis- 
tress and unlaced her black satin quilted boots, with 
their gold buckles and bright scarlet heels. Something 
in Mrs. Vavasour’s manner disturbed her vaguely, but 
she did not give voice to her apprehensions. She dis- 
robed the old lady gently, and put upon her her night- 
robe and bedroom slippers, and brought an Indian 
cashmere shawl which she wrapped about her. 

She then wheeled up the stand with the tray upon it. 
Mrs. Vavasour sipped her negus slowly and thought- 
fully, her black eyes staring steadily into the blazing 
wood fire. 

Her face seemed to grow pinched and white in the 
red gleam of the firelight. Old Margery watched her 
in silence. It was evident that strange thoughts were 
stirring in the centenarian’s breast. Perhaps she thought 
of Dugald, who had always been her idol. Perhaps she 
regretted her hardness of heart and obstinate self-will. 
Perhaps she yearned to see her boy, as she had been 
used to call him, and to be clasped in his young arms. 
Perhaps she thought of his parents, his father having 
been her great-grandson. One might think so who 
watched her softening, yearning face. It was easy to 
imagine that she was tracing back in her own thoughts 
on this night every link in Dugald’s relationship to her- 
self, Grandson, son and husband ! The Honorable 
Egbert Vavasour, her husband, had been dead for sixty 


MRS. VAVASOUR S BIRTHDAY. 


417 


years, an ordinary life-time. Her children, haughty 
and proud like herself, but brave and truthful, were all 
dead too, and of all her stately line she had but two 
descendants living. 

“I was born in this room, Margery,” she said, dream- 
ily, at last, in a low, musing tone. “ A hundred years 
ago to-morrow morning. My children were all born 
here. It is odd how plainly I remember my own child- 
hood to-night. It’s eighty-two years since I was mar- 
ried.” 

“Yes, my leddy,” assented old Margery, uneasily. 

“ Your mother was my waiting-maid when I was 
married, and for many a long year afterward. See 
what a memory I have got for one who has lived a 
century. I’m not old yet ; a hundred years is so soon 
past, after all. I may live twenty years yet.” 

“ I hope so, my leddy. But you look pale and worn. 
Let me help you to your bed. It’s as warm as toast.” 

Mrs. Vavasour arose and was assisted to her bed, and 
carefully tucked between the dainty frilled sheets. The 
curtains of silk and lace fell around her, shutting out 
the light. 

Margery sat down at the foot of the bed, oppressed 
with a vague uneasiness. Something about her vener- 
able mistress to-night seemed strange, and she could 
not retire as usual. 

For some time there was a deep silence. She thought 
Mrs. Vavasour had dropped asleep, and she was begin- 
ning to nod in her chair. Then a soft whisper broke 
the stillness. The woman started up, silent, alert, lis- 
tening. The old woman was praying softly in her bed 
the prayer she had learned nearly a century ago at her 
mother’s knee. 

Old Margery was awe-struck. 


418 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S BIRTHDAY. 


The simple prayer died out in faintest whisper, and 
then the old lady called, softly : 

“ Margery !” 

“ Yes, my leddy.” 

“Come here, Margery, so that I can see you. I want 
to tell you something that will please you. I think I’ve 
been a hard-hearted old woman, and I don’t see how I 
could have been so cruel to one I loved so well. I shall 
send for Dugald in the morning to come home.” 

“ Oh, my leddy — ” 

“ Hush, Margery, I feel so tired. Dugald shall come 
home, and we will celebrate my hundredth birthday in 
joy and merry-making and thanksgiving. My poor 
boy ! I have loved him all the while, Margery. I must 
tell him so. Now go to your room. I want to sleep.” 

She turned her face away, and Margery retreated to 
her chair. 

A little later she peeped in through the curtains upon 
her mistress, and found her sleeping as tranquilly as a 
child. 

“I’m an old fool,” thought Margery, withdrawing. 
“Because she was so soft 'and mild to-night, I must be 
anxious ! Oh, if it were only morning now and Mr. 
Dugald were here ! She’ll have a happy hundredth 
birthday, after all.” 

Old Margery retired to her bed-closet, leaving the 
communicating door ajar, and she was soon asleep. 

She was awake at daybreak, dressed herself hastily, 
and ran in to take a peep at her mistress. 

Mrs. Vavasour was sleeping still very peacefully. 

Old Margery stole out of the room and made her way 
down to the kitchen. The castle servants were astir, 
and the waiting-woman told them all the joyful news 
that Mr. Dugald was coming home. 

“My mistress will not awaken until after eight,” she 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S BIRTHDAY. 


419 


said. “Macdonnell, as my leddy says Mr. Dugald is to 
come home this morning, go fetch him now before she 
wakes, that’s a good soul. Let her eyes open on his 
bonny face.” 

The servants all applauded this happy thought. Mac- 
donnell eagerly hurried out to the stables, and was 
presently riding down the mountain-side, leading Du- 
gald’s favorite horse duly equipped for riding. • 

Before eight o’clock Macdonnell returned with our 
hero. 

Dugald was welcomed by the servants with subdued 
cheers, with tears and hand-clasps and blessings. The 
old clannish feelings of these old servitors clung to this 
young Highland chief, who looked every inch a chief- 
tain. 

Passing them all at last, Dugald made his way to the 
conservatory. He found Edda there, bright as the 
morning, engaged in making an exquisite bouquet. 

We will not describe the lovers’ meeting. 

“ The bouquet is for Mrs. Vavasour,” said Edda, when 
she had thought again for her flowers. 

“ Let me take them to her Edda. She wanted me to 
come to her this morning, and I’m going to awaken 
her with kisses. Come with me, dear.” 

Dugald took the bouquet and led the way to his 
grandmother’s rooms. 

Outside the old lady’s door, old Margery awaited 
them, all smiles, her finger on her lip. 

“ I’ve not been in to her since I came up from the 
kitchen,” said the waiting woman, “for fear of awaking 
her. But I’ve listened, and she’s sleeping still like a 
baby. Oh, it’s a happy day, Mr. Dugald, that sees you 
back again, and my leddy’s heart has been sore for you, 
although her tongue was so bitter. Waken her gently, 


420 


MRS. VAVASOUR’S BIRTHDAY. 


Mr. Dugald. Ah, the happy surprise we’ve got for 
her !” 

“Are you perfectly sure she meant to send for me 
this morning, Margery ?” asked Dugald, struck with a 
sudden doubt and hesitancy. 

“ Perfectly sure. She says to me, says she, ‘ Margery 
I’ve been a hard-hearted old woman, and I don’t see 
how I cotild have been so cruel to my dear boy. I shall 
send for Dugald in the morning and we’ll have a grand 
merry-making over the return of the heir,’ says she, in 
them very words. It’s time for her to awaken. Go in 
quickly, Mr. Dugald.” 

She opened the door softly. Dugald and Edda stole 
into the room, Margery following at a distance. 

The curtains were looped back, the shutters drawn 
up, and the full light of the morning pervaded the 
spacious chamber. Dugald, his handsome face full of 
glad emotion, crossed the floor noiselessly and parted 
the bed-curtains. 

“ Grandmother,” he said, softly, laying the odorous 
bouquet on her pillow; “grandmother, waken. Du- 
gald is here !” 

He bent over her and kissed her tenderly, then sprang 
back with a cry of terror. 

Edda and Margery sprang to the bedside. 

The old lady lay on her pillow silent and motionless. 
The withered old face, all yellow and wrinkled, in- 
closed In the trill of her night-cap, had yesterday looked 
malignant and wicked in its awful passion ; but now a 
mysterious beauty dwelt upon it. It was strangely 
peaceful. The eyelids were closed beneath the bristling 
white brows, and there was a smile on her shrunken 
lips as sweet as ever graced those lips in her far-back 
girlhood. 


A FATEFUL ENCOUNTER. 


421 


“She’s in a -faint !” shrieked Margery. “Oh, my 
leddy, my leddy !” 

“Hush,” said Edda, gently. “She nas begun her 
second century in heaven ! She is dead !” 


CHAPTER XL. 

A FATEFUL ENCOUNTER. 

The discovery of the tell-tale blood-stains upon his 
garments for a moment held the earl speechless and 
motionless. He had had no thought that he had brought 
away with him such mute yet terrible witness of his 
crime. Dingo was dead, and he had supposed that he 
was rid of him forever ; yet Dingo dead, it seemed, 
had yet power to destroy him. He shuddered as a 
mortal terror seized upon him. Yet in the next instant 
he conquered himself, and met the emergency with a 
calmness that surprised himself. 

“Yes, that is blood on my waistcoat,” he said, coolly, 
taking out his cambric handkerchief. “ I had a dis- 
tressing toothache, and was obliged to leave my dinner 
unfinished because of it. I had it extracted this even- 
ing, unable to bear the pain longer, but my mouth bled 
profusely. Did you ever have the toothache, Clair?” 

“ I think not — not that kind,” replied the baron, dryly, 
apparently not accepting the statement with perfect 
credulity. “ But you are an exception to most rules, 
Chariewick, as I’ve discovered.” 

The earl laughed as at a witticism, but his laughter 
was forced and unnatural. The baron furtively marked 
the restless gleam of his Spanish eyes, and the haggard 


422 


A FATEFUL ENCOUNTER. 


aspect of his face, and drew certain conclusions there- 
from. 

Evidently Charlewick felt himself under surveillance, 
for he abruptly excused himself and retired to his bed- 
chamber adjoining. 

The baron remained in the sitting-room more than an 
hour longer, listening to the restless movements of 
Lord Charlewick. At last he sought his own room, 
muttering softly : 

“ Charlewick’s got a bad conscience, one can see that. 
He’s been up to something to-night, and he has seen 
Dingo. What does that blood-stain mean ? Of course, 
Charlewick is not capable of crime, with the hanging 
penalty attached,” and Lord Clair shrugged his shoul- 
ders, “ but he’s got a very devil in him. If it weren’t 
for the money he’s to give me, I’m sure I don’t know 
but I’d give up the attempt to make Hellene marry him. 
But, bah ! half the married people fight, so they’ll be 
no exception to the rule. And he’ll soon tire of her, 
and leave her to herself to find her pleasure in her own 
way. Certainly it’s better to make her a countess and 
mistress of Charlewick-le-Grand than to allow her to 
marry that penniless young Charlton.” 

Thus salving his conscience, which, truth to tell, was 
under such subjection as seldom to trouble him, Lord 
Clair went to bed and to sleep. 

The next morning the confederates were summoned 
at an early hour, and breakfast was served to them in 
their private sitting-room. 

The waiter brought in the morning papers for their 
perusal. Lord Clair noticed the avidity with which the 
earl seized upon them and scanned their contents, and 
the sigh of relief he uttered as he laid them down again. 

“Didn’t find what he looked for,” thought the baron* 
“ Hum ! /’H lopk to-morrow morning.” 


A FATEFUL ENCOUNTER. 


423 


Lord Clair noticed also that the earl started at every 
sound, and that his eyes gleamed restlessly, and that 
his face still retained something of the haggard aspect 
of the previous night. 

In due course of time their cab was announced, and 
the two confederates were transported to the railway 
station. 

“ A great many people traveling at this season,” said 
Lord Clair, “ going to Scotland, the lakes and the sea- 
side. We are likely to find the coaches crowded.” 

They alighted from the cab, and, portmanteaus in 
hand, proceeded to the ticket-office, booking themselves 
to Leeds. 

“If we are on the track of the wrong people,” said 
Lord Clair, philosophically, “ we can come back again. 
We’ll take the journey leisurely. I find that hurrying 
never does any good. Slow and sure is the Clair 
motto.” 

They made their way to the platform. A line of 
coaches was in waiting, and was in process of being 
filled. Guards were hurrying to and fro ; porters were 
trundling their wagons to the luggage-vans ; travelers 
were seeking places. All was life and activity and 
pleasant bustle. 

The fat baron halted and beckoned a guard. 

“ You see all this hurry, Charlewick,” he said. “ What 
does it amount to? We’ve eight minutes yet — time 
enough to settle the fate of a nation — but these idiots 
seem to think that there’s not a moment to spare. Cul- 
tivate a perfect placidity.” 

The guard came hurrying up. 

Lord Clair put a shilling in his hand. 

“ Find us an empty coach where we can smoke,” he 
said. “ We’ll wait here.” 

The guard flew away on his mission. 


424 


A FATEFUL ENCOUNTER. 


“It makes me ill to see the fellow spin off so like a 
top,” said the obese baron. “ I am very peculiarly 
constituted. By Jove!” he added, interrupting him- 
self, “there’s a lady yonder for whose sake, I believe, I 
could be induced to commit matrimony. Is she not 
magnificent, Charlewick ?” 

“Where is she?” asked the earl. 

Lord Clair directed him by a glance. Following 
that glance with his own, the earl beheld a lady with a 
slender figure, tall and stately as Juno, with an imperial 
grace of carriage, standing at a little distance, attended 
by two servants. One of the servants was a man in 
livery, who carried a large Russia leather dressing-bag 
and a lady’s shawl in straps ; the other was an elderly 
woman, with staid attire, and puffs of white hair bor- 
dering her plain and rugged face. The lady herself 
looked young, and was dressed in a heavy black silk 
costume, and wore* a black lace hat trimmed with a 
spray of jet lilies. 

“ I’d like to see her face again,” said the baron. 
“That robe of hers is Worth’s manufacture, I’ll war- 
rant ; and how superbly she wears it ! Look, Charle- 
wick, she turns her face.” 

The earl did look as the lady turned her face full 
upon him. 

The stately beauty was a blonde of the loveliest type, 
with hair of pale gold, yet with deep gray eyes, and a 
complexion in which was no tint of rose and no pallor 
0 of illness — a pale, unsunned complexion of rare and 
exquisite beauty. 

“A blonde woman of the most charming descrip- 
tion,” said the baron. “ By Jove ! Charlewick, what’s 
the matter ?” 

He might well ask, for the earl was staring at the 
lady as if she wore a Gorgon’s head. His face had 


A FATEFUL ENCOUNTER. 


425 


grown ghastly ; there was a look of horror in his. eyes, 
and he looked like one who stands face to face with 
some awful terror. 

His excitement and agitation were reflected in the 
lady’s face. Astonishment and terror seemed for the 
moment to contend for the mastery within her. But 
only for a moment. Commanding herself sternly, a 
sort of frozen calm constraining her features, she quitted 
her servants abruptly and approached the two peers. 

“Coming to speak to us, by Jupiter!” said Lord 
Clair. 

The earl looked about him for some way of escape. 

Too late! Agnace Powys — for the blonde beauty 
was no other than the banker’s daughter — stood before 
him stern, imperial and fair, and he trembled before 
her. 

She regarded him keenly, scanning his every feature, 
as if to assure herself of his identity beyond all ques- 
tion. Then she turned to the wondering baron. 

“ Pardon me, sir,” she said, gracefully, “ but will you 
enlighten me as to the present name of this — this gen- 
tleman in your company ?” 

The earl commanded the baron in an undertone not 
to reply. But Lord Clair affected not to hear. 

“ Certainly, madam,” he said, politely, yet showing 
his surprise. “ He is Lord Charlewick, the present earl, 
who has recently come into his title. He was formerly 
Lord Odo Charlton.” 

A look of amazement overspread Miss Powys’ face. 

“ He an earl !” she said, her voice touched with scorn. 
“ He an earl’s heir ! What was his name twenty years 
ago ?” 

“ Lord Odo Charlton, madam. He is the Lord Odo 
Charlton whose mysterious disappearance at the period 


426 


A FATEFUL ENCOUNTER. 


you mention agitated all England. He was supposed 
to be murdered.” 

Miss Powys struggled with a great agitation. She 
did not answer. Her waiting-woman came to her, urg- 
ing her to hasten, and with a mechanical bow she de- 
parted, and took her place with Mrs. Priggs in a ladies’ 
coach. 

And then, strangely enough, she fainted quite dead 
away. 

The earl turned upon Lord Clair with fierce curses, 
which were cut short by the return of the guard, who 
conducted them to their coach. They were scarcely 
seated when the train started on its journey northward. 

“ I begin to think that your life is full of mysteries, 
Charlewick,” said Lord Clair. “ First crops up that 
Dingo out of your twenty years mystery ; and now 
comes a superb young lady, who might be a royal prin- 
cess from her looks, who asks what may be your ‘ pre- 
sent ’ name. Charlewick, that woman knew you under 
a name not your own once.” 

The earl wiped his dark forehead as he answered, 
sullenly : 

“ Well, what of it ?” 

“You acknowledge it, then ?” 

“ I neither acknowledge nor deny it. Don’t bother 
me, Clair. The woman is nothing to me now.” 

“ But has been once ?” 

“ I did not say so.” 

“You can’t make me believe anything against her,” 
said Lord Clair. “She is a lady as pure as snow. 
With what scorn she looked at you. Who is she, Charle- 
wick ?” 

“ She is a widow named Brend — that’s all I know 
about her. I haven’t seen her in twenty years. Permit 
the subject to drop here, if you please.” 


A FATEFUL ENCOUNTER. 427 

The earl lit a cigar and puffed it furiously, and his 
companion followed his example. 

At the first station at which the train stopped, Miss 
Powys and her two servants alighted. The banker’s 
daughter had left town to spend the day with a friend, 
and was intending to return to London in the evening. 
Lord Charlewick saw her disappear within the precincts 
of the station with her attendants, but his brow did not 
clear nor his heart light. He said in his soul : 

“She knew me ! She’ll be a worse enemy than Dingo 
to deal with, or I’m mistaken in my estimate of her !” 

The two confederates continued their journey to 
Leeds, at which station they alighted. 

Lord Clair made inquiries at the ticket-office, and 
learned that the persons he had traced from London 
had gone on without change of train, booking them- 
selves for Inverness. 

“You see?” he said, exultantly. “I was right. We 
are on the right track. From Inverness they will pro- 
ceed upon the Caledonian Canal to Donellan, and from 
Donellan they will post to Kirkfaldy, Brae Town and 
Storm Castle. We need not hasten, Charlewick. Our 
bird is caging herself for us. I’m nearly famished, and 
we’d best stop in Leeds to-night.” 

The earl agreeing, they proceeded to a hotel. 

As Charlewick paid the expenses of the journey by 
tacit agreement, the baron ordered the choicest wines 
and dishes that could be procured, and when the meal 
was served he did it full justice. The earl, however, 
had little appetite, and was pre-dccupied and gloomy. 

They retired to their separate rooms as early as pos- 
sible. 

The next morning breakfast was served in their pri- 
vate parlor. Lord Clair ordered the morning news- 
papers, and perused them eagerly, as did the earl. 


428 


A FATEFUL ENCOUNTER. 


“No news, as usual/' said the baron. “These are 
dull times, Charlewick. I expected to find something 
of unusual interest this morning ; but I may find it 
next time.” 

“Very likely. In these days of ‘wars and rumors of 
wars ’ there is usually something of interest to be found 
in the journals,” 'said the earl, with seeming indiffer- 
ence. “ Are we to push through direct to Inverness ?” 

The baron shrugged his shoulders. 

“There’s no need of such haste,” he said. “Hellene 
is safe in the Highlands, where she'll stay till we come 
for her. We’ll stop at Edinburg to-night, if you are 
willing.” 

“ Certainly. See here,- Clair, I’ve got something on 
my mind, and I may as well tell it to you. You know 
that I’ve taken a fancy to your daughter, and you’re 
sharp enough to trade upon the fact. Her opposition 
to me has inflamed my love for her into a passion. I’d 
like to cut Charlton out, and make him miserable all 
his days. I’m of a roving disposition ; I’m half tired 
of England already. Marry me to Hellene in the easy 
Scotch fashion, or the easy fashion that will stand law 
in Scotland, and I’ll quintuple the amount of money I 
promised you, and take her abroad for a year or so. 
What do you say ?” 

“Agreed. You’re not niggardly, Charlewick, and 
I’ll do my share to bring about the marriage. She 
shall marry you, depend upon it.” 

A sinister light overspread the earl’s face, and sinister 
joy was working in hi? heart. 

That day they journeyed to Edinburg. 

That evening they dined sumptuously, and at night 
they slept well. 

The next morning they breakfasted together in their 
private parlor, They were nearly through the breakfast 


A FATEFUL ENCOUNTER. 


429 


when the waiter brought in a couple of morning news- 
papers. Lord Clair seized upon them both with avid- 
ity, the earl trying to appear unconcerned. 

“News!” cried Lord Clair. “‘Death of a distin- 
guished lady’ — by Jove! if Hellene’s great great fore- 
mother hasn’t died ! On the morning of her one 
hundredth birthday, too ! Regular old Methuselah ! 
Must have died before Hellene could get there — three 
days before, for the news is not new. She’s got a long 
obituary, and here’s something about her successor, Mr. 
Dugald Vavasour. Why, how rich the old lady was, 
but her money won’t benefit me or Hellene either. We 
shall hardly get there in time to attend the funeral.” 

“Your daughter will attend it, of course?” 

“ Oh, yes, Hellene will stay. We shall find her there, 
I promise you. We shall have things all our own way. 
This death happens well for us, for the old lady would 
have been a tigress to deal with. The household will 
be in confusion, and we can whirl my lady off before 
any one knows it.” 

“ There’s a good deal in that, only I apprehend 
trouble from Charlton.” 

“Just listen to this!” ejaculated Lord Clair, staring 
at the newspaper. “ * Mysterious murder in London. 
On Tuesday evening,’ — why, that was night before last, 
when you had your tooth extracted, Charlewick — ‘a 
man, dressed as a sailor, was found dead in a narrow 
street leading out of St. Martin’s Lane, Trafalgar 
Square. He had been stabbed to the heart some five 
or six times, and must have been'attacked unexpectedly, 
and died without a struggle. In his pocket was found 
a rudely-written letter addressed to “ Mr. Jim Dingo.” 
The wounds which caused his death appear to have 
been inflicted with a stiletto.’ Good heavens ! Charle- 
wick, that’s your Mr. Jim Dingo, and he’s murdered. 
Who could have killed him ?” 


430 


THE BARON’S PROPOSITION. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

THE BARON’S PROPOSITION. 

Lord Charlewick flushed at. the question so abruptly 
put to him by the baron, and grew restive under the 
keen, hard scrutiny leveled upon him. 

“How should I know who killed Dingo ?” he de- 
manded, haughtily. “ How do I know that this is not 
a mere coincidence of name? And if this murdered 
man is really the Dingo who was my valet, why, all I 
can say is that he was a bad lot, a low, quarrelsome 
fellow, and likely to get killed in a drunken brawl. 
Your question and your manner are alike insulting to 
me. Do you think I would kill a man — so long as I 
had money to bribe him ?” 

“ No,” said Lord Clair, more convinced by the last 
clause of the sentence than by all the earl’s indignation 
and angry argumentation. “ The man was a fellow 
who could be bribed — that was plain. With but a small 
portion of your vast income, you could easily buy up 
most men, body and soul. Whatever secret Dingo held 
of yours, he’d keep secret for money ! No need to 
murder the poor devil in order to tie up his tongue.” 

The earl flushed yet more angrily. 

“Who said that Dingo held a secret of mine?” he 
exclaimed. “ I tell you the fellow was a mere drunken 
fool, who used to be my valet in his better days, so he 
fancied he had some claim upon me.” 

“ And a pretty valid sort of claim he must have had 
to make you look so horrified at sight of him ! Well, 
well, keep your own secrets, Charlewick. The man is 


THE BARONES PROPOSITION. 


431 


dead, and out of the way. That’s the last of him. So 
long as you don’t transgress the law, you know, you can 
have what mysteries you please.” 

The fat baron flung down the newspaper, his great 
round face shining placidly, and resumed his breakfast. 
Lord Charlewick sipped his coffee, with its flavor of 
cognac, and continued moody and overshadowed with 
gloom. 

“We’ll go on to Inverness to-day,” said the baron, 
changing the subject. “And to-morrow we’ll do the 
Caledonian Canal, and complete our journey, if possi- 
ble, on the following day ; but the posting through the 
Highlands is slow work and terribly hard, and it’s a 
good day’s journey over the steep and horrible roads 
from Donellan to Kirkfaldy, and so on to old Ben 
Storm. Hellene, no doubt, journeyed through day and 
night, and finds herself exhausted in consequence.” 

“ We may find that Miss Clair has not come to Scot- 
land at all,” said the earl, gloomily. “ She may be in 
London still, and we may be upon the track of simple 
tourists. The whole thing is a cursed bother. I want 
to end it all, marry Miss Clair, outwit Charlton, and 
carry off my bride to the Continent. I hate England. 
I think I’ll go to Spain for a year or two, and make the 
acquaintance of my mother’s people.” 

“ Your bride shall be ready to accompany you,” said 
the baron, his mind fixed upon the magnificent bribe 
the earl had offered him. “ I shall bring Hellene to 
terms very speedily.” 

The confederates traveled that day to Inverness. 

The earl, impatient and devoured by secret anxieties, 
would have hastened onward toward their destination, 
but if he was all fire and smothered excitement, the 
baron was placidity itself, and determined not to fatigue 
himself, not to lose a good dinner, and, in short, not to 


432 


THE BARON’S PROPOSITION. 


sacrifice any iota of his present comfort, even in the 
hope of securing future benefit. 

“I’d travel all night, Charlewick,” he said, lazily, “if 
it were necessary ; but it isn’t, you know. Hellene is 
safe at Storm Castle, and we can take things easy.” 

They stopped at Inverness that night. 

Upon the following morning, as they sat at breakfast 
together, the baron announced a conclusion to which he 
had arrived after long and anxious deliberation. 

“ Charlewick,” he said, “ if we go on to Storm Castle 
together, you and I, there may be trouble. Hellene 
may appeal to some country justice, or Charlton may 
fight, and there’ll be a scandal. Now, I’ve thought of 
a feasible plan to get Hellene quietly into our hands 
again, and that’s the main point. We must get her 
under our control, you know, before we can do anything 
with her.” 

“Yes, but she knows you too well. She won’t come 
under your control, Clair, without a struggle.” 

“ I think she will,” replied the baron, stroking his 
chin complacently. “ I am a born manoeuverer and 
diplomatist, my friend. I propose that you remain 
here, and I go on alone to Storm Castle. I present 
myself, all worn with fatigue, nearly bruised to a jelly, 
and every bone dislocated, or next thing to it, by the 
abominable up-and-down roads, to my daughter. I tell 
her I repent my harshness ; I implore her pardon ; I 
make friends with her. The old Methuselah of the 
castle being dead, I bring Hellene away with me. I 
disarm young Charlton and leave him behind me. Then 
I bring Hellene to Inverness, where you await us.” 

“When she’ll make an attempt at flight, or give us 
downright trouble. Your plan is good, all but the 
finale. Miss Clair must not meet me'at Inverness. If 
you could only take her to some lonely country-house 


THE BARON’S PROPOSITION. 


433 


without exciting her suspicion — ah, if she had not es- 
caped from that lonely Norman tower. You had her at 
your mercy there, Clair.” 

“ I wish I had even a cottage in the Highlands,” sighed 
the baron ; “ but I haven’t, and I don’t know how to get 
one upon short notice. This is the season for tourists 
and travelers, and every cottage is already let. Or if I 
had a lonely den anywhere else, it would do ; but I 
haven’t. My own house has been let to strangers these 
ten years, and the rental is applied to pay on the mort- 
gages. Hellene’s houses are let. By Jove ! if we cap- 
ture our bird, where shall we cage her?” 

“ I don’t know Scotland,” said Lord Charlewick. 
“ It’s twenty odd years since I was here, and then I 
visited a friend at his hunting-box, so that I am com- 
pletely ignorant of the country.” 

“It isn’t necessary to remain in Scotland. You can’t 
marry Hellene here any more than elsewhere without her 
consent ; and if she yields that, why, you can marry 
her anywhere. I am absolutely at my wit’s end what 
to do with her after we get her in my care. We can’t 
take her back to France, for Charlton would be sure to 
look for her there as soon as he discovers that I’ve 
cheated him.” 

“ Then what are we to do ?” asked the earl, in dismay. 

“I don’t know, unless you can come to the rescue. 
Have you* no unoccupied house in the country anywhere 
to which I could convey Hellene?” 

The earl replied in the negative. 

“ I haven’t been long enough in possession of my 
estates to know what I actually possess,” he said. 
“ There’s the villa I hired at Hackney, but Charlton 
knows of that, and would be sure to look there for Miss 
Clair, when he began to suspect your treachery. I’ve 
no place — ah, I have got an estate in Yorkshire, on the 


THE BARON’S PROPOSITION. 


434 

moors, a small place, which Graham, my land-steward, 
told me about. It is called Racket Hall, and is empty. 
There was a non-paying tenant who was lately turned 
out, and Graham suggested that I should make the 
house a shooting-box. There’s fine shooting on the 
moors thereabouts. I know that the late tenant left his 
sticks of furniture at the Hall, and we can step into his 
place and find everything ready for us.” 

“The very place for us,” cried the baron, enthusias- 
tically. “ Give me the address.” 

Lord Charlewick wrote the address upon a card, which 
the baron put into his purse. 

“ Permit me to have the direction of affairs,” remarked 
Lord Clair, complacently. “Have you the keys of 
Racket Hall ?” 

“ No ; but I can telegraph to Graham — ” 

“ Do nothing of the kind. Be as secret as the grave. 
You can procure a handful of keys, some of which will 
be sure to fit. Or yop can procure necessary tools and 
remove a lock ; or we can break a window — there are 
many ways to accomplish one’s ends. You’d better 
write to your old nurse, Mrs. Diggs, who is so devoted 
to you, and let her go secretly to Racket Hall and pre- 
pare it; for occupancy, and remain there as cook and 
housekeeper. Then do you go to Racket Hall also, 
and wait there for us. We shall arrive there within a 
week.” £ . 

This programme was amplififed and fully decided 
upon. 

The confederates accordingly separated, Lord Clair 
proceeding to explore the Caledonian Canal by the 
steamer so far as Donellan, and Lord Charlewick re- 
turning to England, making his journey without stop- 
ping. 


THE BARON’S PROPOSITION. 


435 


Arrived again in Leeds, he went to the hotel at which 
he had before stopped, and called for rooms. 

His first act on finding himself installed was to write 
a long and private letter to his late mother’s former 
maid, his own childhood’s nurse, the Spanish woman, 
Mrs. Diggs. His letter was written in the Spanish 
language, and betrayed nothing of his intended or past 
villainies, and no allusion to the Clairs. He demanded 
Mrs. Diggs’ secret services, and begged her to join him 
at Leeds, in company with her son, Peter, immediately, 
keeping her destination and purpose carefully con- 
cealed from every one. He dispatched this letter to 
the post as soon as written, and then called for London 
newspapers. 

These were procured for him with some difficulty, 
and he perused them in his own room, with locked door 
and drawn blinds. 

He discovered an account of the finding of the body 
of Jim Dingo in the lonely street in which he had been 
murdered, and read with interest the speculations of 
the newspaper writer as to the manner in which Dingo 
had met his death. 

“ ‘ No clue to the assassin,’ ” he quoted, with a look 
of relief, taking up the newspaper of most recent date. 
“ But how could there be ? I’m safe — Oh, what’s this ?” 

An article in the journal he held had caught his 
wandering gaze. 

It was an account of the inquest which had been held 
upon the body of Dingo. The principal witness was 
Dingo’s wife, or widow, a buxom young woman, to 
whom Dingo had recently been married Mrs. Dingo, 
with every sign of heartfelt grief, had testified that her 
husband had recently returned to England from Tas- 
mania ; that she had married him ; that on the day 
preceding the evening on which he had been foully 


436 


THE BARON S PROPOSITION. 


assassinated he had come home to her in their lodgings 
in Southwark in high spirits, telling her that his fortune 
was assured, and that she should be a lady as rich as any 
in the land. He had then explained to her that he had 
encountered by chance that morning at the West End 
an old pal of his, a fellow called Spanish Bob, otherwise 
Devil Bob, wha had risen in the world and become a 
rich “nob.” He declared to her that he held secrets 
of Spanish Bob in his keeping that would utterly destroy 
that personage, and that he should make his fortune 
by keeping these secrets. The concluding and most 
impressive portion of Mrs. Dingo’s testimony was that 
her husband had informed her that he had an appoint- 
ment to meet Spanish Bob upon the north side of 
Trafalgar Square upon that fatal evening upon which 
he, Dingo, was assassinated. It was the belief of Mrs. 
Dingo that her husband had been treacherously stabbed 
by Spanish Bob. 

On being further interrogated, Mrs. Dingo had exhib- 
ited a singular reticence. She either did not know the 
real name of Spanish Bob, or she chose to keep the 
secret buried in her own breast. 

The earl read the narrative again and again. 

“ The woman did not know the real name of Spanish 
Bob, or she would have told it,” he mused. “A narrow 
escape for me. How Dingo lied to me when he said 
that he had told no one of his meeting with me in Pic- 
cadilly, and that he had not seen a face that he knew 
throughout the day. A narrow escape, indeed ! I won- 
der that I believed the babbling, drunken idiot. I got 
rid of him just in time.” 

He carefully destroyed the newspapers, as if thus he 
would destroy every particle of evidence against him. 

He remained at Leeds until Mrs. Diggs and her son 
arrived. The devotion of the pair to him was worthy 


THE BARON’S PROPOSITION. 


437 


a better object. He unfolded to them his plans, in 
which they heartily joined. Purchases were made, keys 
obtained, and a day after their arrival Lord Charle- 
wick set out for Racket Hall by a circuitous route, 
taking with him these faithful allies. 

Meanwhile Lord Clair pursued his way to Ben Storm, 
occupying two days in the journey. 

It was toward evening, and a fine Scotch mist was 
falling, when the baron drove up in his post-chaise to 
the door of the Brae Town inn, the Sprig of Gowan. 
The post-horses were jaded, and the driver absolutely 
refused to continue the journey up the mountain until 
the animals should be fed and rested. 

The baro-n was therefore obliged to alight, and he 
entered the inn with something of disgust depicted upon 
his features. Outside, a group of Highland curs were 
barking and yelping. Inside was a sanded floor, a small 
bar, a table and chairs ; a rural place enough, but 
clean, and not comfortless. A group of rough-looking 
Highlanders were gathered about a log fire chatting 
and smoking, but they hushed their voices and looked 
curiously at the stranger as he entered. 

Lord Clair’s nose assumed a celestial tendency. 

“ Is this the best room you have ?” he demanded, 
with a scornful glance around him. 

The landlady came out from behind the bar and 
opened the door of an inner room, into which the baron 
hastened. 

This second room was a sort of rude parlor, but the 
floor was uncarpeted, the walls were bare, the windows 
uncurtained, the furniture of deal and of the rudest 
description. But it was clean, there was a bright wood 
fire on the hearth, and a table was laid with a single 
cover and with scrupulous neatness. 

The baron flung his hat on one chair, his walking- 


438 


THE BARON'S PROPOSITION. 


stick upon another, his light topcoat upon a third, and 
deposited his heavy figure upon a fourth and before the 
fire. 

“Beastly weather!” he grumbled. “Beastly coun- 
try ! Beastly huts ! See here, my good woman, I want 
the best dinner you can get up for me inside of an hour. 
What do the natives live on in this benighted region ?” 

The landlady employed herself in picking up her 
guest’s scattered apparel as she replied : 

“We can give you a meat pasty, sir, or bacon and 
eggs, or a stewed chicken.” 

“ The meat pasty, then, and the stewed chicken, and 
be lively about it,” said the baron. “ But one word 
more — is Mrs Vavasour, of the castle, buried yet?” 

“Oh, yes, sir. She was buried yesterday.” 

“ Can you tell me if a young lady attended the funeral 
— the descendant of Mrs Vavasour — named Miss Clair ?” 
asked the baron, eagerly. 

“ Oh, yes, sir ; she’s at the castle now, sir. She ar- 
rived two days before the funeral.” 

“ Thanks. Now hasten with my dinner. I am fam- 
ished.” 

The landlady withdrew, and the baron, congratulating 
himself upon having discovered beyond all possibility 
of doubt that Hellene was at Storm Castle, gave himself 
up to pleasant musings. 

A maid-servant came in presently, and added another 
cover to that already upon the table — the second set of 
dishes being evidently intended for Lord Clair. 

“ I am to eat at the same table with another guest,” 
thought the baron. “ Who can it be ?” 

The question was promptly answered by the entrance 
of Lord Ronald Charlton. 

Lord Clair arose, and the two men regarded each 


THE B AEON’S PROPOSITION. 


439 


other in surprise. The baron was the first to recover 
himself. He assumed a smile, and exclaimed : 

“Well, Lord Ronald, I suppose that you and Hellene 
thought that you had completely outwitted me.” 

“ I hoped we had,” said Lord Ronald, drawing back, 
and regarding the round, smiling face of his enemy 
distrustfully. 

“ No doubt. I suppose you know that you can be 
arrested and punished for abducting my daughter ? 
Are you married to her?” 

Lord Ronald’s fair face flushed. 

“I am not,” he answered. “I am not capable of 
taking advantage of Miss Clair’s helplessness to press 
my suit upon her. She has been under the charge of a 
kind lady from the moment of her escape from the old 
Norman tower. I am not afraid of punishment for ab- 
ducting Miss Clair. Any English jury would acquit 
me after hearing from her lips the story of your infa- 
mous persecutions of her.” 

The baron winced. Ronald’s keen and steady gaze, 
his undismayed bearing, were scarcely what he expected. 

“ Is Lord Charlewick with you ?” demanded Ronald. 

“ He is not. The truth is, we’ve parted company. I 
am not so well pleased with the earl as I was,” said the 
baron, with apparent frankness. “ He is strange and 
secret, and there’s an odd mystery clinging to him. I 
don’t wonder that Hellene refused to marry him.” 

“You’ve changed your mind greatly, sir,” said Lord 
Ronald, suspiciously. 

“ I have indeed. Not that I favor her marriage with 
you, Lord Ronald,” said his wily enemy, knowing pre- 
cisely how much and how little to concede. “ I like 
you well enough, and if you were the earl you might 
marry Hellene with my blessing. But the case is just 
here. I am poor, in debt, with the tastes of a Sybarite 


440 the baron’s proposition. 

and no means to gratify them. Charlewick offered me 
a large sum of money for my consent to his marriage 
with Hellene, and I consented. One must have money.” 

“ I supposed you had made Miss Clair an object of 
barter and sale,” said Lord Ronald, stingingly. 

The baron settled himself in his chair, and arched his 
brows after the French manner. 

“ Sit down, Lord Ronald. Let us talk the matter 
over,” he said. “I am no ogre, no monster, as you seem 
to think. I am not over-fond of my daughter, it is true. 
She was brought up by strangers after her mother’s 
death, and I should speak falsely if I said I love her. 
She seems to me a very self-willed young woman, ro- 
mantic, and without much regard for her chances in the 
world ; but she is what she is, and I cannot make her 
over. As it is impossible to persuade her to marry the 
earl, I have come up here to see if I can not make an 
arrangement of another sort with her — a — a bargain, 
in short.” 

Ronald looked interested and curious, but not satisfied. 

“I shall go on to the castle in about an hour,” con- 
tinued the baron, “ and shall probably remain there to- 
uight. The proposition I have to make to my daughter 
is this — I may as well tell you, Lord Ronald, as Hellene 
will probably do so. As she won’t marry the earl, she 
ought to be willing to make me some sort of recom- 
pense for my disappointment and loss. And so, if she’ll 
agree to live with me and allow me one-half her income 
for my individual use, I will say no more about the 
earl. But she is also to agree not to marry until she is 
twenty-one years of age, and before her marriage she 
is to make a settlement of a handsome annuity upon 
me. If she will agree to this, I will agree to treat her 
kindly, respectfully, and so forth. That is to be my 
proposition to her.” 


THE BARON’S PROPOSITION. 


441 


The baron’s real purpose was so carefully hidden that 
Lord Ronald did not suspect it. 

“ How is Miss Clair to know that you will not deceive 
her as before, and lead her into a trap ?” demanded 
Hellene’s lover. 

The baron shrugged his shoulders. 

“ She will know by the fact that such a movement on 
my part would do no good. Hellene is not the yielding, 
timid creature I fancied, and I must submit to being 
overruled in the scheme I cherished. Naturally, I don’t 
want her guardianship taken from me, and if she’ll meet 
me half way I will be all she can desire.” 

Lord Ronald became thoughtful. 

The landlady presently brought in dinner to her 
guests. The baron was pleased to compliment the cook- 
ing and to do justice to it with his usual appetite. He 
even drank a glass of beer, a beverage he especially 
disliked, thinking it only one degree better than pure 
water. 

After dinner the landlady announced that the baron’s 
“ po’-shay ” waited at the door to convey him to Storm 
Castle. 

“I must leave you, then, Lord Ronald,” said Hellene’s 
father, arising and putting on his topcoat with a great 
effort and the assistance of the landlady. “ I dare say 
I shall see you in the morning.” 

Lord Ronald put on his own overcoat, and brought 
in his hat from a rear passage. 

“ I shall go with you, sir,” he said, his handsome face 
wearing a stern, resolved expression. “ Will you give 
me a seat in your carriage, or shall I go on horseback ?” 

Lord Clair seemed taken aback by the young man’s 
prompt decisiveness. 

“ Oh, if you’re determined to go along,” he said, care- 


442 


UNDER A MISTAKE. 


lessly, come with me, of course. The carriage is large 
enough for us both.” 

Lord Ronald bowed, and the two men crossed the 
little bar-room, and went out into the night, which was 
dark and driving with mist. The carriage lamps burned 
brightly, and the driver, well wrapped, was in his place. 

The two men entered the chaise, which set off briskly 
upon the road leading from Brae Town up the mountain. 

“A pokerish night,” muttered the baron, “and a poker- 
ish road. I hope the driver is sober, else we shall get 
our necks broken.” 


CHAPTER XLII. 

UNDER A MISTAKE. 

.r ■ v 

The tidings that Mrs. Vavasour was dead spread 
through Storm Castle like wild-fire. The joy in the 
household at Dugald’s return became mingled with 
mourning for the death of his ancestress. She had been 
loved and honored by her people. They had been 
proud of her great age and of the preservation of all 
her faculties. They had regarded her with a peculiar 
reverence, and were shocked at her sudden death. A 
great excitement pervaded the establishment, and poor 
old Margery’s vrailings were echoed in kitchen and 
servant’s hall. 

No one, however, felt the shock as did Dugald Vava- 
sour. He had approached her bedside glowing with 
hope and love, but never in this life would he hear her 
speak kindly to him. The last look she had given him 
had been scornful and malignant ; her last words to 
him had been words of hatred. 


UNDER A MISTAKE. 


443 


He retreated from the bedside and stood with folded 
arms, pale and sorrow-stricken. But when Margery 
appealed to him as “ master of the castle,” to take charge 
of affairs, he proved himself prompt and efficient. He 
dispatched messengers in every direction — to the Brae 
Manse for the minister, to Kirkfaldy for the lawyer and 
doctor, to neighbors even thirty miies distant, and the 
mounted men were quickly on their way. 

The minister was the first to arrive. He closeted 
himself with Dugald, endeavoring to cheer him and 
comfort him in his sorrow. Edda offered to assist 
Margery, but the old waiting-woman turned upon her 
fiercely, and begged her to keep to her own room. 

“ You are not wanted in here,” she said, sharply. 
“ My own hands, that have dressed my leddy for forty 
years, shall dress her for the last time. God forgive 
me if I speak harshly in the presence of the sacred 
dead, but you are a serpent in this house, Miss Brend, 
and have tried to take the place of our dear Master 
Dugald in my leddy’s heart. May God forgive you — I 
can’t !” 

The woman’s soul grew bitter as she thought of the 
will that disinherited the rightful heir and enriched the 
girl-stranger. 

Edda was bewildered. 

“I don’t understand you, Margery,” she said, gently. 
“ I am no ‘Serpent,’ and as to Mr. Dugald,” she added, 
her pale face flushing, “ this is no time to speak of such 
things, Margery, but I hope to marry Mr. Vavasour, 
and so I have a right to do anything I can for his dead 
grandmother.” 

“You — you! hope to marry him!” cried Margery. 
“Well, your hopes will prove vain. It is not for him to 
wed a companion — a hireling, miss,” and Margery’s face 
and voice were alike grim and hard. “ He can marry 


444 


UNDER A MISTAKE. 


the best in the land, if he is poor. Go to your own 
room — go ! I can’t abear the sight of your beguiling 
face !” 

Edda submitted quietly and went to her own room. 

She did not see Dugald until evening, and the minis- 
ter was then present, and but few words passed between 
the lovers. It was nearly midnight when the doctor 
arrived. By the following morning several other arri- 
vals had transpired, and the undertaker’s men were in 
attendance. Mr. McKay, the lawyer, had been sum- 
moned away from Kirkfaldy on important business to 
Inverness, and the messenger from the castle had ar- 
rived at his house some hours after his departure east- 
ward. His presence not being deemed indispensable, 
the messenger left a letter to be delivered to him upon 
his return and hastened homeward. 

Upon the third day after her decease the venerable 
lady was coffined and ready for burial, which event was 
to take place two days later. 

A strange silence brooded now over the lonely High- 
land castle. The servants moved about in list slippers, 
and spoke in hushed voices. Strange people threaded 
the halls, and talked in whispers in the drawing-rooms. 
The hush of death brooded over the place. 

Upon the evening of this third day there was an 
arrival of unusual importance at the castle. 

A post-chaise, drawn by stout but jaded horses, and 
containing four persons, drove into the carriage-porch. 
A tall footman, with a black crape streamer tied on his 
left arm, passed down the castle steps to assist the new- 
comers in alighting. 

The newcomers were Hellene Clair and her friends 
come to seek Mrs. Vavasour’s protection for the young 
girl. 

Lord Ronald sprang out and assisted Hellene and 


UNDER A MISTAKE. 


445 


Mrs. Bliss to the ground. Letty, disdaining help, clam- 
bered down before assistance could be proffered her. 
Ronald gave his arm to Hellene and conducted her up 
the broad steps. 

They passed into the grand baronial hall of the dwel- 
ling. It was hung and festooned with black cloth. On 
every hand were signs of mourning. The newcomers 
stared aghast. 

“ Is — is Mrs. Vavasour dead ?” asked Lord Ronald. 

The solemn butler, clad in deepest mourning, came 
forward to receive the visitors. 

“ My lady died three days since,” he said. “The 
funeral will take place at Brae Town the day after to- 
morrow. I will show you into a reception-room, and 
inform Mr. Vavasour of your arrival. What names 
shall I say ?” 

“ It will be enough to say that Miss Clair, the descen- 
dant of Mrs. Vavasour and the cousin of Mr. Vavasour, 
has arrived with some friends,” said Lord Ronald 
Charlton. 

The butler bowed and ushered the guests into the red 
drawing-room, which, unlike most of the state apart- 
ments, was not hung with signs of mourning. He then 
retired to summon Dugald. 

“Mrs. Vavasour dead !” said Hellene, throwing back 
her thick black vail — for she was dressed entirely in 
black — and looking anxiously at her lover. “ Oh, Ron- 
ald, what shall we do ? We cannot remain here.” 

“ Our arrival is most untimely,” said Mrs. Bliss. 

“ We will stay until after the funeral, in any case,” 
said Lord Ronald. “The butler evidently supposes us 
to be invited guests, and Mr. Vavasour will expect you 
to remain, Hellene. As for me, I’ll seek shelter at the 
inn in the hamlet at the foot of the mountain.” 


446 " UNDER A MISTAKE. 

Before further conversation could be indulged in, 
Dugald Vavasour entered their presence. 

He was dressed in deep mourning, and looked pale 
and worn, but very grand and noble. Hellene’s heart* 
went out to him at once, and she arose and held out her 
hand to him with winning frankness. 

“I am Hellene Clair,” she said, “your far-off cousin, 
Mr. Vavasour, and besides yourself the only living de- 
scendant of Mrs. Vavasour.” 

Dugald clasped her hand warmly. 

“I am glad to see you, Cousin Hellene,” he said. “I 
did not think to telegraph to you, my grandmother’s 
death was so sudden, and I have scarcely been myself 
since it occurred ; but you were kind to come.” 

“We did not know that Mrs. Vavasour was dead until 
we arrived here,” said Hellene. “We have hurried 
through from London in all possible haste. Mr. Vava- 
sour, permit me to make you acquainted with my 
friends, Mrs. Bliss and Lord Ronald Charlton.” 

Mr. Vavasour greeted the strangers with grave and 
pleasant courtesy. 

Hellene gracefully resumed her seat. 

“ It becomes necessary to explain how we came to 
intrude ourselves upon you at such unseasonable time,” 
said Hellene. “ I came, accompanied by these kind 
friends, to solicit my grandmother’s protection for my- 
self.” 

She told her story briefly, yet with clearness, putting 
Mr. Vavasour in possession of all the facts connected 1 
with her flight from her father’s protection. Mr. Vava- 
sour listened gravely, and with interest. 

“ I am persuaded that my grandmother would have 
cheerfully accorded you the protection and refuge you 
seek, Miss Clair,” he said, when she had concluded. 

“ This is no time to decide upon your future course, 


UNDER A MISTAKE. 


447 


now that her protection cannot avail you. I beg you to 
remain at Storm Castle for the present, and your friends 
with you. After the funeral I shall be glad to offer you 
any assistance in my power.” 

Hellene and Mrs. Bliss accepted the invitation. 

Lord Ronald declared his intention of seeking refuge 
at the Brae Town inn, and could not be dissuaded from 
his resolve. 

Accordingly, he soon after departed in the post-chaise 
in which he had come. 

Mrs. Macray was summoned, and conducted the ladies 
up-stairs to apartments that had been made ready for 
possible guests. 

The room assigned Hellene was a very long apart- 
ment, with a high bedstead filling an alcove, and with a 
bath-closet, and room for a maid adjoining. The room 
was luxuriously furnished after a long-past fashion, and 
looked grand rather than home-like. 

A room similar in many respects was assigned to Mrs. 
Bliss. 

Hellene had but little luggage, and her toilet was 
soon made Letty brushed her black , silk dress, and 
she put on a fresh collar and cuffs, and arranged her 
golden hair afresh. 

“ I am all ready,” said Hellene. “ I wonder if we are 
expected to go below, or if some one will send for us.” 

A light knock sounded on her door. Letty hastened 
to open it, giving admittance to Edda Brend. 

Edda was dressed in deep mourning, but her dusky 
eyes were softly shining, and she could not banish, even 
now in her actual sorrow, all the brightness from her 
face, since it emanated from a spirit whose sunniness 
would not be overclouded. 

The two girls — the one so fair, the other so dark, the 
one so calm and winning, the other so fiery and sweet— 


448 


UNDER A MISTAKE. 


were drawn toward each other in mutual liking in the 
first moment of exchanging glances. Edda’s set speech 
which she had planned vanished entirely out of her 
head, and she said instead : 

“You are Miss Clair, are you not? I am Miss Brend, 
Mrs. Vavasour’s hired companion. Mrs. Macray, the 
housekeeper, has received most of the guests, but she is 
very busy, and begged me to come and to say that she 
will attend you in the course of an hour. In the mean- 
time, can I do anything for you ?” 

“ Thank you, Miss Brend,” said Hellene ; “ but you can 
do nothing unless you will tell me about my grandmother’s 
death. I should like to hear about that. And also 
please tell me if Mr. Vavasour is married.” 

Edda’s dark cheeks flushed. 

“ He is not married,” she replied. “ I will tell you all 
about Mrs. Vavasour after you shall have dined. Let 
me take you down by a private way to the breakfast- 
room. There is a great deal of company at the castle, 
but you need see no one unless you choose.” 

Edda conducted Hellene and Mrs. Bliss — stopping at 
the door of the latter for her — down to the breakfast- 
room, where a good dinner was served to the guests. 
After dinner, Edda led the way to a pretty octagon 
room, known as the “study,” but which was seldom 
used for any purpose. 

And here Edda told the story of Mrs. Vavasour’s 
death on the morning of her hundredth birthday, and 
Hellene asked questions and Edda answered, both frank 
and girlish and unreserved. Hellene was the first young 
lady of her own age Edda had ever known, and she was 
delighted with her ; while Hellene thought the spark- 
ling little brunette the most beautiful girl she had ever 
seen. 

Before the evening was over the two were fast friends. 


UNDER A MISTAKE. 


449 


They were together most of the Lime during the next 
two days. Hellene ordered a suit of mourning gar- 
ments from Kirkfaldy, similar to one already ordered 
by Edda for her own use, receiving it in time to take 
her place as one of the chief mourners at the funeral of 
the ancestress she had never seen. 

Upon the appointed day the funeral took place with 
appropriate pomp and ceremony, and a long procession 
followed the plumed hearse from Storm Castle down 
the mountain to Brae Kirk in the valley below. 

But few of the guests returned to the castle ; they 
went from Brae Town to their various homes. 

Only the minister and Lord Ronald Charlton returned 
with Mr. Vavasour and the procession of sorrowing 
servants. Lord Ronald joined Hellene in a tour of the 
garden. The servants began to dismantle the halls and 
drawing-^ooms of their funereal garb, and the minister 
and Dugald Vavasour retired together to the library. 

“ Has not the lawyer, McKay, arrived yet, Mr. Vava- 
sour?” asked Mr. Macdougal, with a heavy shadow on 
his kindly face— a shadow that had rested there since 
the hour in which he had heard of Mrs. Vavasour’s 
sudden death. 

“ No. Old Margery sent another messenger to Kirk- 
faldy this morning, to hasten his coming,” replied 
Dugald. 

The minister paced the floor uneasily. 

“ You know, my dear boy,” he said, abruptly, “ that 
your grandmother left a will ? ’ 

Dugald’s fair, stern face expressed his surprise. 

“No, I did not know it,” he said. “I knew that 
McKay was here the day or so before she died, but I 
did not know she had made a will.” 

“ She did. It was a monstrous wrong, and I think 
she meant to repair that wrong, but death overtook her 


450 


UNDER A MISTAKE. 


before she could do so,” said the minister, sorrowfully. 
“ I saw McKay on the morning he went home. He was 
in a sore ill-humor. He said that Mrs. Vavasour had 
willed every penny of her fortune, and all her estates, 
including Storm Castle, away from you, cutting you off 
with a shilling.” 

Dugald’s face whitened a little. The intelligence was 
a shock to him, despite all Mrs. Vavasour’s threatenings 
He loved the castle and the grand old Highlands, and 
it was -hard to go forth from his rightful heritage as 
poor as any laborer on the mountain side. 

“At least my grandmother thought kindly of meat 
the last. She meant to repair her wrong. Who is the 
heir ?” 

“I asked McKay, and I gathered from his answer that 
the chosen heir was Mrs. Vavasour’s other descendant, 
Miss Clair. She was rich in her own right, and did not 
need to despoil you,” said the minister, bitterly. “ Shall 
you contest the will ?” 

“Never!” cried Dugald, proudly. “ It must go to Miss 
Clair. And as for me, since I am disinherited I must 
not linger longer here. Every hour passed under this 
dear old roof that now belongs to another only pains 
and humiliates me. I will go back to London to- 
morrow and resume my work.” 

“ I shall stay at the castle to-night,” said Mr. Maedou- 
gal, sadly. “Perhaps Mr. McKay may persuade you to 
contest the will, or you may effect a compromise of some 
sort with Miss Clair.” 

“ Impossible. My dear friend, I do not deny that I 
am pained at being disinherited, but I shall not consent 
to enrich myself at another’s expense. Lshall not await 
Mr. McKay’s return. My business calls me back to Lon- 
don at once. Understand me, sir, I do not envy Miss 
Clair ; I am not weak, nor fond of wealth for wealth’s 


UNDER a mistake. 


451 


sake, and I am not afraid to work. Do not speak on 
the subject to Miss Clair. She is coming in now with 
Lord Ronald.” 

Dugald beat a hasty retreat to avoid meeting Hellene 
and her lover. His wandering steps took him to the 
wing which had been so lately tenanted by Mrs. Vava- 
sour. Old Margery sat there alone now, weeping and 
desolate. 

Edda Brend was in the adjoining boudoir, but her 
lover did not see her although the door was ajar. 

“ Do not grieve so, Margery,” said the young man, 
gently. “ Your mistress has gone to a land where there’s 
no more dying.” 

“ I am not grieving for her, Master Dugald,” wept 
Margery, “ but for you— for you ! Oh, why don’t Mr. 
McKay come ? There’s a will left, Master Dugald — ” 

“ Yes, I know.” 

“And all Mrs. Vavasour’s wealth, and this castle too, 
is left to a stranger — that girl — ” 

“ Yes, I know, Margery,” said Dugald, calmly. “ Mr. 
Macdougal told me. If my grandmother had lived she 
would have changed her will, but I shall not contest it. 
Let the money go. I can earn my own living.” 

“ Oh, but it’s hard for the rightful heir of Storm Cas- 
tle to work for his bread,” wailed Margery. “ How can 
my poor leddy rest in her grave ? But is there no way 
to right the wrong, Mr. Dugald ? Shall you marry the 
heiress ?” 

“ What ! I marry the heiress of my grandmother T* 
cried Dugald. “ No, indeed. A thousand times no. I 
am a poor man, but I’m too proud to marry a rich wife, 
old Margery, even if I loved hen I’m going away in the 
morning. Where is Mrs. Macray ?’* 

“ In the housekeeper’s room, sir.’* 

Dugald sauntered away and made a visit to the house 4 


452 


UNDER A MISTAKE. 


keeper. On his return he encountered his betrothed in 
a lonely corridor. 

“ Edda,” he said, abruptly, “ I have discovered that 
my grandmother has made a will disinheriting me. I 
shall return to London, setting out to-morrow morning. 
I cannot take you with me, dear, What is to become of 
you ?” 

“ Miss Clair has begged me to remain with her as her 
companion, Dugald. I suppose she is to stay on at the 
castle. I like her very much. Had I not better stay ?” 

“For the present, yes. I shall prepare a home for 
you, and come for you as soon as I may. But for the 
necessity to write to your friend for her consent to our 
marriage, I should insist upon taking you with me now. 
But as that may not be, my darling, I know that you 
will wait for me, and write to me often. God bless you, 
my own Edda ! I shall not see you in the morning. 
We must now say good-bye.” 

We will not describe the tender lovers’ parting. It 
was over at last ; and Edda went away to her own room. 
Dugald, however, had other duties. He had to bid Hel- 
lene good-bye, and urge her to remain at the Castle 
until the coming of Mr. McKay, and he pleaded business 
as his excuse for returning so hastily to England. He 
bade Lord Ronald* farewell with grave kindliness, and 
he had a long conversation afterward with the minister 
in his own room. The next morning, Dugald Vavasour 
ate his breakfast by candle-light, and directly afterward 
rode away from the castle, and pressed southward and 
eastward with all speed upon his return journey to 
London. 


THE READING OF THE WILL. 


453 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

THE READING OF THE WILL. 

• Near the close of the day upon the morning of which 
Dugald Vavasour so abruptly quitted Storm Castle and 
set out upon his return to London, and some three or 
four hours before Lord Clair appeared at the Brae Town 
inn, Mr. McKay rode up the mountain side upon a jaded 
steed, his face anxious and careworn, his heart heavy 
and sorrowful. 

He had been to Inverness on business, and had ex- 
tended his journey to Edinburg in the interest of his 
client. At the latter place he had heard of the death of 
Mrs. Vavasour, and he had • made what haste he could 
to return. An accident had detained him on the way, 
but he had pushed through since his detention with a 
feverish energy and rapidity. 

He had heard at Kirkfaldy that Dugald Vavasour had 
gone back to London, and he mourned at the disinherit- 
ance of the noble young heir. 

“ I ought to have refused to draw^up the will,” he 
thought, in bitter self-reproach. “ Had I known that 
Mrs. Vavasour must die so soon, I should have so re- 
fused. But I supposed she might live years yet — she 
looked like it — and she threatened to send for Flood, as 
mean a fellow as ever lived, and so I yielded. But the 
will shall be broken. Dugald Vavasour shall not be 
turned out of his rightful inheritance by a mere hireling, 
a pretty adventuress, a bold, scheming young woman, 
who knew how to flatter and fawn upon an old lady 
almost in her dotage.” 


454 


TIIK READING OF THE WILL. 


His heart filled with bitterness and wrath against 
Edda. whom he thus termed an adventuress. He dis- 
mounted in the porch, threw his reins to a waiting 
groom, and ascended the steps into the hall. 

The funereal drapery had been removed, but a fune- 
real air hung around the magnificent apartment still. 
The butler, looking more solemn even than usual, and 
dressed in deep mourning, with a crape streamer on his 
arm, was visible at the further end of the long room, in 
the act of disappearing into an adjoining chamber. 
Glancing back, however, the household dignitary beheld 
the new arrival, and came hastening forward to greet 
him. 

“You find things changed here, -sir, since you were 
here last,” said the butler. “ My leddy is gone, sir, 
Perhaps it was to be expected at her age, sir ; but it has 
come upon us all like a blow\” 

“ Naturally,” said the lawyer. “ I was shocked my- 
self, greatly shocked. I expected that she would live 
years yet, although I knew, of course, that at her age 
death might come to her at any time. I understand 
that Mr. Vavasour is gone to London.” 

“ Yes, sir,” said the butler, with a groan. “The right 
ful heir is cast out, and is gone to work for his bread, 
while — Qh, it’s hard, sir, hard ! I wonder my leddy 
can rest in her grave.” 

“Hard?” said the lawyer. “ It’s a shame— a down- 
right, picked, crying shame. If I had known — But 
who is stopping at the castle now ? What guests are 
here ?” 

“None, sir, excepting Miss Clair, Mrs. Vavasour’s 
descendant, the daughter of ‘ the rich Miss Vavasour’ 
who married Lord Clair. She is up from London with 
a lady friend, and they’re in the red drawing-room, sir. 


THE READING OE THE WILL. 


455 


And Miss Brend is there, and Minister Macdougal. All 
the remaining guests are gone to their homes.” 

“ I will go into the red drawing-room,” said the lawyer. 
“ I am come on business, and it will be necessary to pro- 
duce and read Mrs. Vavasour’s will. Send old Margery 
to me, and Mrs. Macray also, and come yourself, Mac- 
donald. I shall need you all.” 

The butler bowed assent and ushered the lawyer into 
the red drawing-room. 

It was occupied by all the persons whom the butler 
had mentioned. Edda Brend, dressed in deep mourn- 
ing, sat somewhat apart from the others, looking over a 
volume of engravings. Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Macdougal 
were conversing in lew tones about the house of Vava- 
sour and the departed glory of the MacFingals. Hel- 
lene Clair and Lord Ronald Charlton sat in the deep 
recess of a bay window, half-hidden by drooping lace 
curtains, absorbed in each other. 

The entrance of the lawyer broke up the little groups. 
Edda arose and came forward with quiet ease and self- 
possession — the latter being one of her distinguishing 
traits — and greeted the lawyer courteously. She effected 
the usual introductions with a ready grace, and the law- 
yer and the minister, who were old friends, clasped 
hands. 

“I am sorry I could not get nere sooner, said the 
lawyer. “ I ought to have seen Mr. Vavasour before he 
went back to England.” 

“ He knows that he is not his grandmother’s heir,” 
said the minister, sorrowfully. “ I told him that she had 
made a will cutting him off with a shilling, and his pride 
and self-respect would not permit him to remain at the 
castle longer. I suggested that a compromise with the 
real heir might be effected, but he utterly refuses to 
attempt a compromise or to contest the will.” 


456 THE BEADING OF THE WILL. 

“ I shall see him,” said Mr. McKay decisively, “ if I 
have to journey to London for the purpose. But my 
object in coming here to-day is to read the last will of 
Mrs. Vavasour, as it is my duty to do. And here comes 
Margery.” 

The door opened, and old Margery, the housekeeper, 
and the butler filed into the room. 

The waiting-woman’s eyes were red with weeping and 
her big rugged face was swollen. Mrs. Macray was cry- 
ing also. 

The lawyer leaned with one hand upon the table and 
said : 

“ These three servants were witnesses of Mrs. Vava- 
sour’s last will, which I drew up an(J also witnessed the 
day but one before the testator’s death. Margery, can 
you produce that will, or tell where it is deposited ?” 

“Yes, sir,” the woman sobbed. “My leddy put it 
away in a secret drawer of her own private desk, and 
showed me the spring and how to open the drawer, and 
my leddy said if I was not true to the trust she reposed 
in me she would come back from her grave to haunt 
me. I have not looked at the will, nor opened the 
drawer since she out the Daper away with her own 
hands, sir.” 

“ Take me to the room ana to the desk,” said the law- 
yer. “ Mr. Macdougal, Lord Ronald, I beg you to accom- 
pany me as witnesses.” 

The gentlemen followed old Margery to the late Mrs. 
Vavasour’s boudoir. The will was discovered duly 
sealed and enclosed, and the party returned with it to 
the room they had quitted. 

Mr. McKay stood up by the table. The guests, includ- 
ing Edda, grouped themselves decorously around him 
all seated. The three attached old servants of the 
family remained standing near the door. 


THE READING OF THE WILL. 


457 


“ It is my duty,” said the lawyer, sadly, “ to declare to 
you all the last will and testament of Octavia MacFingal 
Vavasour.” 

He broke the seals and began the reading, a breathless 
silence reigning. 

The declaration that “ I, Octavia MacFingal Vavasour, 
being of sound mind,” seemed to possess more than 
usual force and significance, in view of the fact that the 
lawyer had expressed an intention of contesting the will 
he had so ably drawn up himself. 

He read slowly the long enumeration of properties, 
estates, bank-accounts, railway shares, and other posses- 
sions of the deceased lady, and a deep anxiety prevailed 
as he concluded : “All these I give and bequeath with- 
out reserve, with all my personal property, jewels and 
family plate, library, and horses, and every thing of 
which I may die possessed, to my young companion, 
known as Edda Brend. 

“And I bequeath to my great-great-grandson, Dugald 
Vavasour, one shilling in the coin of the realm, as a 
token of my appreciation of his character and his affec- 
tion for me.” 

A dead silence followed the reading of the will. 

The witnesses solemnly acknowledged their signatures 
as witnesses. 

Minister Macdougal looked bewildered ; he had be- 
lieved Hellene to be the heiress. Old Margery wept 
aloud. 

Edda looked bewildered. 

“ I don’t understand,” she said. 

“ It means, Miss Brend,” said the lawyer, coldly, “ that 
by the terms of this will you are absolute owner of Storm 
Castle and the entire property of the late Mrs. Vavasour, 
with an annual income of fifty thousand pounds. And 


458 


THE HEADING- OE THE WILL. 


it means that.the true descendant of the MacFingals and 
Vavasours is a beggar.” 

The bitterness of this response stung Edda like a 
knife-thrust. She turned her gaze slowly toward Hel- 
lene and Lord Ronald. Hellene approached her, hold- 
ing out her hand in genuine friendliness and warmth. 

“You must let me congratulate you, Miss Brend, upon 
your good fortune,” she said. “ I can see how unex- 
pected it is to you, but I am sure it is deserved. Mrs- 
Vavasour would not have so honored you if she had not 
loved and trusted you.” 

“ You are very kind, Miss Clair,” said Edda, grate- 
fully. 

Then the young heiress looked back again steadily at 
the lawyer, who was folding up the will. 

“ I do not think I quite understand it all yet,” declared 
Edda. “ Does the will mean that Dugald Vavasour re- 
ceives of all his grandmother’s wealth a single shilling, 
Mr. McKay ?” 

The lawyer bowed assent. 

A faint flush began creeping into the girl’s dark, clear 
cheeks. 

“And does it mean,” she asked, her voice growing 
stronger and clearer, “ that Mrs. Vavasour has left all 
that she possessed to me? That I am rich, the owner of 
the castle — I, who was but the other day a stranger to 
her?” 

The lawyer again assented. 

There was something so bright, almost exultant in 
Edda’s looks and manner, that Hellene Clair drew 
away from her, and Lord Ronald and the others looked 
astonished. 

“All to me — to me!” cried Edda, her voice ringing 
with a happiness at which those who heard her were 
angered. “I realize it now. And but for me, Mr. 


THE READING OF THE WILL. 


450 


McKay, Dugal Vavasour would be the heir, would he not ? 
No, for Mrs. Vavasour would have devised her wealth to 
some one else. It seems incredible, does it not? Please 
let me see the will. I want to see it with my own 
eyes/’ 

A look of disgust mantled the lawyer’s face. Surely 
such exultation was out of place. The girl’s head must 
be turned, he thought, at her unparalleled good fortune. 
Yet he permitted her to take the will into her hands. 

Edda read it over, and those who were grouped about 
her watched her in disapproving silence. 

“ And this little paper with these signatures makes 
me a great heiress,” she murmured. “ If there had been 
no will, Mr. McKay, what then ? Who would then have 
inherited all this wealth ?” 

“ Dugald Vavasour, of course. He is the heir-at-law, 
in default of any will.” 

Edda’s eyes shone now with a steady glow ; her dark 
cheeks flushed ; her face glowed like a star. Those 
around her stood back from her, yet they all acknowl- 
edged in their hearts her glorious beauty, and did invol- 
untary homage to it. 

“I thank you, Mr. McKay,” she said, smiling. “ I am 
happier this day than 1 ever expected to be.” 

There was a wood-fire on the hearth as usual, although 
the month was late August. It was always chilly in the 
mountain castle as evening drew on, and the thick stone 
walls were always damp, so that a fire was necessary for 
health and comfort. 

Before any one could comprehend Edda’s intention, 
the girl walked swiftly to the hearth and laid the docu- 
ment she held upon the blazing logs. The paper ignited 
in a second, there was a bright flash of flame, and then 
a curling thin blue ash was all that remained of Mrs. 
Vavasour’s last will and testament. 


460 


THE READING OF THE WILL. 


They all stared amazed. 

“Miss Brend, are you mad?” cried Mrs. Bliss. “Do 
you know what you have done ?” 

The radiance now of Edda’s face was beautiful to 
witness. 

“Yes, madam,” she said, coolly. “I have destroyed 
a most unjust will, which Mrs. Vavasour would surely 
have destroyed if she had lived. It is not for a stranger 
to inherit Storm Castle. Mr. Vavasour must receive his 
own as his rightful inheritance, not as a gift from any 
one. I should have destroyed this will in any case, see- 
ing that I am the only person to benefit by it ; but per- 
haps,” she added, smiling, “ I #m not so generous as you 
think.” 

Mr. McKay recovered from the stupor into which 
Edda’s act had plunged him. 

“Generous !” he echoed. “You’re the noblest girl I 
ever saw, Miss Brend. I beg your pardon for my evil 
thoughts of you. I am glad that Mrs. Vavasour willed 
her property to you. Heavens ! If she had devised it 
to Miss Cameron ! Miss Brend, I promise you that you 
shall not be beggared by your noble generosity. Will 
you shake hands with me ?” 

“ I have done nothing so very heroic,” said Edda, 
smiling ; “but I’ll shake hands with you, if you like.” 

“ And with me, too ?” asked Mr. Macdougal. “ Miss 
Brend, you have exemplified the noblest precepts of the 
Christian religion to-day — ” 

“ Please don’t,” said Edda, shrinkingly. “I couldn’t 
take the property, of course. I had no right to it, even 
if Mrs. Vavasour did will it to me. Please don’t say 
anything more about it. No, Miss Clair , no, Lord 
Ronald, not one word.” 

But Hellene came and kissed her silently in a mute 
apology, and Lord Ronald clasped her hand warmly. 


THE READING OF THE WILL. 


461 


“ Of course Miss Brend has only done right,” sniffed 
old Margery, “ seeing she had no claim on Mrs. Vava- 
sour ; but how often will you find people who will do 
right, and sacrifice so much in doing it ? God bless you, 
Miss Brend ! Mr. Dugald will see that you never come 
to want. And now he’s master here and he can make a 
brilliant marriage, and Storm Castle will revive its 
ancient glories, God be praised !” 

“ Mr. Vavasour must be sent for immediately,” said 
Mr. McKay. “ I will hasten to Donellan, setting out at 
daybreak to-morrow morning, and send a messenger to 
overtake him or telegraph him to return. We shall have 
the master of the castle home again to his own very 
soon, God willing. And now, Mrs. Macray,” he added, 
briskly, “ if you’ll give me a bit of supper, you’ll find me 
with a better appetite than I’ve had for a week.” 

The servants went out. A few minutes later the but- 
ler reappeared to conduct Mr. McKay to his room, where 
the lawyer refreshed his toilet. He was then conducted 
to the breakfast-room and bountifully served. When he 
had finished eating, he said : 

“ Macdonald, I’ll go to the library for a little while. 
Are there lights there ?” 

“ Yes, sir,” said the butler. “Mrs. Macray is lighting 
up the castle, sir, out of joy at the good news that 
Master Dugald is owner here. Mrs. Macray wants to 
telegraph-like the joyful tidings to the people at Brae 
Town, sir. All the rooms are to be lighted. Lord Ron- 
ald Charlton has just taken his leave, and he will tell the 
villagers the cause of our rejoicing.” 

“Very good,” said the lawyer, well pleased. “Ask 
Miss Brend to come to me in the library, Macdonald, for 
a few minutes. I would like a brief private interview 
with her.” 

Mr. McKay went to the library, and Edda Brend soon 


462 


THE HEADING OF THE WILL. 


joined him there. He arose to receive her, greeting her 
with a reverential sort of respect that touched her. 

“ Miss Brend,” he said, gravely, “ had I suspected your 
intention, I should have felt it my duty to prevent your 
impulsive action, even while I know and feel that you 
did what was right and just. But you are only a young 
girl, and you may repent your present generosity at 
some future time. I can safely promise that Mr. Vava- 
sour will settle a handsome annuity upon you. Permit 
me to ask you a few questions. As you were a hired 
companion of Mrs. Vavasour, you are undoubtedly poor. 
Have you any friends — I mean relatives ?” 

“None,” said Edda, flushing — “none, I mean, who 
are willing to acknowledge me.” 

The lawyer looked graver still. Edda’s frank but un- 
guarded admission was interpreted by him to mean that 
her parents were not respectable, and that she had no 
right to the name she bore. 

“ My dear young lady, this is very sad,” he said. 
“ Forgive me for pressing the subject further, but have 
you no legal guardian, no home, no legitimate friends 
whom you can openly claim as your relatives ?” 

“ None, sir,” replied Edda. 

“ Then I must say, Miss Brend, that your act of to-day 
was grandly unselfish,” cried Mr. McKay, enthusiasti- 
cally, “ and worthy of the highest admiration.” 

“ No, sir,” said Edda, simply, “ you praise me too 
highly — indeed you do, sir. I should have done the 
same thing if I had never seen Mr. Vavasour ; for right 
is right, and I am not one to take advantage of another. 
But, Mr. McKay,” and now her cheeks burned and her 
voice trembled, “ I must explain to you that I shall prob- 
ably be mistress of Storm Castle, even though Mr. Va- 
vasour inherits it, for I am Mr. Vavasour’s promised 
wife.” 


THE READING- OF THE WILL. 


463 


The lawyer looked incredulous. 

“ I became acquainted with Mr. Dugald Vavasour last 
autumn,” continued Edda, “ when he was poor as well 
as I.” 

Mr. McKay was shocked at this revelation. That 
Dugald Vavasour, having the best blood of Scotland in 
his veins, should marry a girl whose friends dare not 
acknowledge her, seemed preposterous. Despite his 
interest in Edda, he declared to himself that such a 
frightful sacrifice ought not to be permitted. 

“ Miss Brend,” he said, “ you are a young woman of 
uncommon good sense, and I should like to speak to you 
frankly. Mr. Vavasour is of a great family, and he 
ought to ally himself with some family like his own. No 
doubt he is infatuated with you, and being a man of 
honor, no doubt he will marry you, if you hold him to 
his promise. But I have a conviction that you will not 
so hold him. A young lady capable of destroying a will 
which enriches her at the expense of the rightful heir, is 
capable also of giving up her lover when she knows that 
such relinquishment is for his honor and social advance- 
ment. A nameless woman, with pgssibly unworthy re- 
latives, is not a fitting mistress for Storm Castle,” he 
added, kindly, yet severely. 

“ But Dugald thinks otherwise. He does not marry 
my father, but me,” said Edda. 

“ I see that the subject has already been discussed by 
you,” said the lawyer. “ It is none of my business, but 
I have a strong desire to see Mr. Vavasour honored 
among the great families of Scotland. He ought to 
make a brilliant marriage, and would have done so but 
for his engagement with you. I cannot help but wish, 
Miss Brend, that you would be generous enough to give 
up Vavasour as you have given up his property.” 


464 


THE READING OP THE WILL. 


“ I would do so cheerfully if Mr. Vavasour desired it,” 
said Edda, proudly. 

“ But he will not desire it, since he is a man of honor,” 
said... Mr. McKay, quickly. “ Suppose you go away before 
he returns home, Miss Brend, and give him six months 
or a year in which to get used to his new position and 
see society. If then he desires the marriage, why, his 
love will have stood the test of prosperity, as it has al- 
ready stood that of adversity. Have you courage enough 
for this — generosity enough, unselfishness enough ?” 

Edda’s face paled, but she answered, calmly : 

“ I have. After what you have said, Mr. McKay, I 
should demand such a test. I will go away before he 
returns. I have money, and I have friends in London 
I will go to-morrow.” 

“You are a brave girl. Iam sorry to have pained 
you, Miss Brend, but Dugald Vavasour’s wife would be 
a shining mark for detraction. And Dugald himself, 
being the soul of honor, would be chafed at the mystery 
surrounding his wife’s origin — I do not mean to wound 
you — but you must see all this for yourself.” 

“You think I am not good enough for Dugald ?” 

“ Personally, yes ; but men like Vavasour have to con- 
sider other things as well. If he does not think now of 
his wife’s family, he may by-and-by, all the more because 
he does not now.” 

“Mr. McKay, I think — I am sure — that you mean 
well,” said Edda, in a pained voice, “ and I suppose you 
look at the matter from the worldly point of view. But 
Dugald is the one to decide. That he may decide with- 
out being influenced in any way by me, I shall go to 
London, but I shall not give him up ; I shall not write 
any letter of renunciation, and equally I shall not appeal 
to his fidelity. I will leave my address for him with 
old Margery, who will give it to him when he comes. 


THE READING OF THE WILL. 


465 


But if he follows me to London and insists upon an 
immediate marriage, I shall marry him — provided my 
friends are willing.” 

”Very well, Miss Brend, so be it, then,” said Mr, 
McKay, with a sigh. “ A woman can give up her fortune, 
I see, when she is not generous enough to give up her 
lover. But, after all, if you keep Vavasour you keep 
the fortune, too. Probably you thought of that when 
you destroyed the will,” he added, involuntarily, and 
with an extreme bitterness. 

“ You insult me, sir. I did not think of that,” cried 
Edda, impetuously, “and you ought to know that I did 
not.” 

The lawyer begged her pardon with profuse apologies. 

“ It is granted,” said Edda, coldly. “ You will excuse 
me if I retire now. Mr. Vavasour shall have perfect free- 
dom to cling to me or to leave me. My future rests in 
his hands.” 

With a bow she retired, going to her own room. Dur- 
ing the next few hours she worked with feverish energy, 
packing her trunks. Before she slept her boxes were 
all strapped and ready for removal, her address was 
written and placed in a sealed envelope, to be placed in 
the hands of old Margery in trust for Mr. Vavasour, and 
a carriage had been ordered to be in readiness to take 
her away early the next morning. 

“ I will go to London and see Miss Powys,” thought 
Edda, in bed, at last. “ I shall tell her all about Dugald. 
He will come for me. What does he care about pride of 
family ? He will come for me directly, I know.” 


466 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTER XLIV, 

FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 

The night and the steep mountain road were indeed 
“pokerish,” if pokerish means peculiarly unpleasant. 
The sky was obscured by clouds and the mist was fine 
and thick. The driver had taken a glass or two of ale 
or something stronger, and he rattled out of the village 
street and began the ascent of Storm Mountain at a rate 
of speed that made Lord Clair tremble. Even Lord 
Ronald looked anxious, as the driver, not permitting his 
horses to walk, hurried them with strokes of the whip up 
the steep ascents with utter recklessness of consequences. 

“We shall all be killed,” cried Lord Clair, righting 
himself after a violent pitch forward into his companion’s 
arms. “ The fellow is drunk. What shall we do ?” 

Lord Ronald replied by putting his head out of the 
window and commanding the driver to halt. The order 
was obeyed. 

“ Do you know this road ?” asked the young lord. 
“Have you ever been up this mountain before ?” 

The driver replied in the negative. 

'•'Then just wait a minute,” said the young gentleman, 
alighting swiftly. “ I know the road and its dangerous 
points. I will drive to the castle.” 

He mounted beside the driver and seized the reins, 
overawing the man by his quiet air of command. The 
journey was thenceforward made slowly and carefullv, 
and with suitable intervals of rest for the tired horses. 
Under Lord Ronald’s guidance, no accident occurred, 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 467 

and the carriage drew up at last before the castle upon 
the mountain-peak. 

Lights were blazing from every window ; the shutters 
were all opened and curtains were drawn back that the 
splendor of the illumination might be witnessed by the 
people of Brae Town. And it was so witnessed and 
enjoyed. Lord Ronald had informed the people at the 
inn during his brief stay at the hamlet, before his return 
with Lord Clair, and the glad intelligence that Dugald 
Vavasour was now master of the castle and sole inheritor 
of Mrs. Vavasour’s wealth had spread to every cottage. 

Lord Ronald sprang down from the box and assisted 
Lord Clair to alight. The two ascended the steps as a 
footman came hurrying down. The surprise of the ser- 
vant at Lord Ronald’s speedy return was mingled with 
concern. The young gentleman had taken his leave 
since the reading of the will, and here he was returned 
a little over two hours later, and just as the castle was 
about to be closed for the night. 

“ I hope your lordship has met with no accident,” said 
the footman. “It’s a dark night, sir, and the road is 
bad.” 

“ I’ve met with no accident, thank you,” replied Lord 
Ronald. “ I came back with my friend, who wishes to 
see Miss Clair. Has Miss Clair retired ?” 

“ No, my lord, she is in the red drawing-room still.” 

The footman ushered the guests into the room in 
question. 

Edda was in her own chamber engaged in packing her 
trunks. Mr. McKay was gone to bed, being thoroughly 
exhausted. The only occupants of the drawing-room, 
therefore, were Miss Clair, Mrs. Bliss, and Mr. Macdou- 
gal, who had decided to remain over-night at the castle 
on account of the darkness. 

As Lord Clair made his appearance, preceding Lord 


468 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 


Ronald, Hellene sprang to her feet in a very panic of 
terror. 

The sight of her lover the next moment partially re- 
assured her, but she was very pale and trembling, and 
stood in an attitude of flight. 

But the fat baron did not frown upon her or assail 
her with reproaches, as she expected. His big, round, 
placid face was actually wreathed in smiles, and his 
small eyes, nearly buried under mountainous lids, and 
set in the midst of pastry-looking flesh, were almost 
benevolent in their gaze. He waddled across the floor 
toward his daughter and held out one forefinger, saying, 
with an airiness meant to be French : 

“ Ah, here you are, little truaut ! I’ve found you at 
last, have I ? Well, what have you to say to me, my 
dear ?” 

Hellene extended one cold little hand, as her father 
seemed to expect her to do, and the baron laid his fore- 
finger upon it, his nearest approach to shaking hands 
upon all ordinary occasions. But Miss Clair seemed to 
have nothing to say, and looked particularly nervous 
and ill at ease. 

“ I found Lord Clair at the Brae Town inn,” explained 
Lord Ronald, “and so returned with him. Mrs. Bliss, 
permit me to present Lord Clair. Mr. Macdougal, Lord 
Clair.” 

The baron bowed with airy grace. 

“ Delighted to see you, Mrs. Bliss,” he said, with a 
very low bow. “ You are my daughter’s chaperon, I sup- 
pose ? You are very kind to take such good care of my 
young truant. I shall not forget it, I assure you. Mr. 
Macdougal, I am happy to make your acquaintance.” 

Lord Clair had by this time discovered an easy-chair 
close at hand, and he deposited his obese person in it 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 


469 


with extreme carefulness, as if he had been made of the 
most brittle material. 

Mr. Macdougal, fancying that father and daughter 
would like to be together, murmured something about 
being extremely tired, and begged to be excused. He 
then withdrew himself for the night. 

The baron looked benevolently at his daughter. 

“ I was extremely shocked by seeing in the Edinburgh 
journals that Mrs. Vavasour was dead,” he said. “And 
on the morning of her hundredth birthday, too — most 
remarkable occurrence ! Fortunate you happened to be 
here to take your place at the funeral. I have heard, I 
think, that Mrs. Vavasour was not latterly upon good 
terms with her great-great-grandson, Dugald Vavasour. 
Did she leave a will ?” 

“ There is no will now in existence,” said Hellene, 
briefly. 

“ Hum. Then Vavasour, being heir-at-law, succeeds 
to everything. Is he at home ?” 

“ He started for London this morning, sir,” replied 
Hellene. “He is expected back again almost immedi- 
ately.” 

“ Ah, indeed. Who is mistress of the castle ? Is 
Vavasour married ?” 

“ He is not. There is an old housekeeper w T ho takes 
charge of everything,” responded Hellene. 

“ But, my dear child,” said the baron, looking shocked, 
“ I am surprised that you should remain in a bachelor’s 
establishment a moment longer than necessary. I con- 
fess that my old-fashioned prejudices are completely 
shocked. What w T ere you intending to do ? What course 
had you planned for yourself ?” 

Hellene glanced at her lover and replied that no deci- 
sion had yet been arrived at ; no plan settled upon. 

“Ah, yes,” said the baron, approvingly. “And now, 


470 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 


Hellene, I must beg you to grant me a private inter- 
view. Lord Ronald and your chaperon will kindly 
withdraw.” 

Mrs. Bliss made a motion to retire, but Hellene re- 
strained her. 

“Father,” said the young girl, firmly, “whatever you 
have to say to me can be said before my friends. I do 
not wish to see you alone.” 

“ Is this the treatment a daughter should accord a 
father, Hellene >?” 

“ Have you treated me as a father should treat his 
daughter?” returned the young girl. 

The baron’s small eyes quailed before her flashing 
blue orbs, and the aroused spirit that shone in every 
feature of her sweet blonde face showed him that he had 
no child to deal with, but a suspicious, resolute, keen- 
sighted woman. 

Lord Clair was not as harmless as the dove, but he 
certainly was as cunning as a serpent.- He assumed an 
injured air, and appeared deeply pained. 

“ I have deserved this,” he said. “ I can blame myself 
for it all.” 

“Yes, you can, father,” said Hellene, coldly. “Where 
is Lord Charlewick ? Did you leave him at the inn 
below ?” 

“ No, I parted company with him days ago,” replied 
the baron. “ Charlewick came over to England with me, 
but he is an evil-minded man, and I grew to dislike him. 
In short, we quarreled. He knew that our hopes of mar- 
rying you to him were all frustrated, and he was angry at 
me, blaming me for your escape. We supposed that 
you had applied to the courts for a new guardian, or to 
become a ward of Chancery, and I became alarmed for 
myself. In trying to sit upon two stools I seemed likely 
to fall between them. So we separated. Charlewick 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 


471 


has, I believe, gone to Spain to visit his mother’s rela- 
tions. Finding myself deserted by him, I thought I 
would try to make my peace with you. I traced you 
here with some difficulty, and followed after you. Have 
you taken any steps, Hellene, toward freeing vourself 
from my guardianship ?” 

“ Not yet,” said Hellene, a little reluctantly. 

“ I am glad of that. It’s a hard thing for a father to 
be made an object of public scorn by his only daughter,” 
said Lord Clair, sentimentally. “ I have not been a good 
father, I know. I don’t know much about young women, 
and you have seemed uncommonly self-willed, Hellene, 
I am poor, and I thought that I could secure a brilliant 
marriage for you and a decent fortune for myself by 
one stroke. Such marriages are common enough in 
France.” 

“And in Turkey also, I suppose,” remarked Hellene. 

“In France,” continued Lord Clair, ignoring the inter- 
ruption, “young women do not make such an ado about 
their affections, and the author of a young girl’s being 
is rightly considered the arbiter of her destiny. I have 
lived so long in France that I am more of a Frenchman 
in many things than an Englishman. This must be my 
excuse for the course I have taken. But atl my fine 
schemes are ended. You absolutely refuse to marry the 
earl and he has given over the project, partly in disgust, 
partly because it is not feasible. And I am left out in 
the cold. I am poor, in debt, and do not know which 
way to turn for relief. Why expose me to open shame ? 
Why make our private affairs a public scandal ? If you 
will return to me, Hellene, I will not promise to be an 
affectionate father — for that is not in my nature — but 
you will find me considerate and kind. What do you 
say ?” 

“ I don’t know what to say, sir,” said Hellene, still dis- 


472 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 


trustful. “ What are your new designs? Would you 
wish to return to France? I wall not consent to leave 
England again?” 

“ I wifi not ask you to do so. But I want you to live 
with me, under my protection. You must agree to re- 
main unmarried until you reach the age of twenty-one. 
In return for this concession, I will escort you when- 
ever you wish to go, will secure your place of Rosemount 
for our home, and will do what I can for your comfort 
without lessening my own.” 

Hellene reflected, with an anxious gaze bent upon her 
lover. 

“ You have an income of a thousand pounds for your 
sole and separate use from your estate, and this annual 
sum is to be continued to you until you attain the age of 
one-and-twenty, when you will come into possession of 
your mother’s immense and entire fortune. A second 
thousand pounds, taken from your net income, is allotted 
to your guardian for your maintenance,” said Lord Clair. 
“ It must be a part of our bargain that that second 
thousand pounds shall belong to me. You and I will 
contribute from our equal incomes an equal sum for our 
joint housekeeping expenses. In this way we can live 
together ^in peace andxharmony, avoid all scandal, and 
benefit each other.” 

The baron appeared to wait, in the greatest possible 
anxiety, for a reply. 

He had played his part so well that even Lord Ronald 
was deceived. The baron’s display of his selfish nature 
had served as an effectual screen for his darker purposes. 
Lord Ronald reflected that it might not be easy, in the 
changed state of affairs, to secure a change of guardian 
for Hellene ; he could not ask her at present to marry 
him ; and, under all the circumstances, considering the 
inevitable scandal a different course would cause, Hel- 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 


473 


lene had better place herself again under her father’s 
protection. He told her so in few words and in an un- 
dertone. 

Hellene drew a breath of relief, her heart and judg- 
ment having inclined her to a similar decision. 

“ I accept your proposition, father,” she said. “ I will 
live with you so long as you keep to the terms of our 
agreement, or until I attain my majority. But I am to 
receive my own friends when I please, and Ronald is to 
visit me at his pleasure. And, father,” she added, firmly, 
“ it must be a fact recognized by you as a fact, that 
Ronald and I are promised to each other, and that we 
shall marry in due course of time.” 

“ Very well,” said the baron ; “ and it must also be a 
recognized fact that when you marry, you shall settle 
upon me as an annuity out of your fortune a thousand 
pounds a year. Is that also agreed to ?” 

Hellene assented. 

“ How soon shall you wish me to leave Storm Castle ?” 
she asked. 

“In the morning. My post-chaise will wait for us and 
take us away.” 

“Where shall you take me ?” • 

“To London. I shall remain in town until I can ne- 
gotiate for Rosemount or secure another residence.” 

“Shall Lord Ronald accompany us?” 

“As he may choose,” said the baron, politely. “We 
will go back to London very leisurely, and enjoy the 
charming scenery as we pass through Scotland. I shall 
be charmed if Lord Ronald and Mrs. Bliss will become 
members of our party.” 

“Thank you, Lord Clair,” said Mrs. Bliss, courteously, 
“ but I must return to the Continent and Lady Canby 
with all possible speed. I must push through to London 
by express.” 


474 


INTO THE SNARE. 


“ And I also,” said Lord Ronald, who was not desirous 
of traveling in company with the selfish, unscrupulous 
baron. “ I must see Hartson, who is no doubt very 
anxious about me. I will escort Mrs. Bliss, and will call* 
upon Miss Clair immediately on her arrival in town. 
What hotel shall you stop at, Lord Clair?” 

“ The Alexandra. We shall be a week or ten days in 
reaching London, Lord Ronald. Hellene can write you 
on the way, and give you the exact date of our expected 
arrival. It is all settled then, Hellene. We are -to 
maintain an ‘armed neutrality,’ to live and let live ?” 

The matter was so settled. When Lord Clair went up 
to the chamber assigned him an hour or so later, and 
locked his door, he muttered to himself : 

“You’re a genius — a perfect Machiavelli, my dear 
baron ! Ah, a diplomatist greater than Talleyrand was 
lost to his country when I declined public life ! My 
dainty lady has walked straight into the trap I have set 
for her ; but now the problem arises, how am I to get 
her to Racket Hall, on the wild Yorkshire moors ? Ah, 
how ?” 


CHAPTER XLV. 

INTO THE SNARE. 

The question which Lord Clair proposed to himself 
as he took possession of his chamber at Storm Castle did 
not disturb him one moment after he laid his ponderous 
figure upon his couch. He closed his eyes and went to 
sleep without preliminary restlessness and tossing, sleep- 
ing as tranquilly as an innocent child. In the morning, 
however, the question again presented itself for solution. 


INTO THE SNARE. 


• 475 


“ It will come to me, as most of my happy ideas come, 
in an inspiration at the right moment. At any rate, I 
will enjoy the present, and the future will take care of 
itself. I hope I shall have a decent breakfast. I have 
heard that the ancient female ‘Methuselah, who has just 
departed this life, kept a male French cook. I should 
like to test his skill,” sighed the baron, as he dressed 
himself. “ Ah, if my interior were but content, my brain 
would be active enough. I wonder what this beastly 
Highland region affords for human food. Birds, of 
course ; but the Scottish character is so tinctured with 
obstinacy, and things take such contrary turns in this 
world, that I shouldn’t at all wonder if I were presently 
seated before a bowl of oatmeal porridge, or parritch, as 
the Scots say.” 

The suggestion was dispiriting. The baron finished 
dressing, and rang his bell vigorously. A servant, who 
was usually stationed in the hall without when gu^ests^ 
were at the castle, appeared almost upon the instant. 

“ At what hour is breakfast served ?” demanded Lord 
Clair. 

“ At any time you please, my lord,” was the respectful 
answer. “ Miss Brend and Mr. McKay breakfasted two 
hours since, but they have left the castle. Miss Clair 
and Mrs. Bliss have just gone down to the breakfast- 
room.” 

“ Very well. Show me the way.” 

The servant — a tall, liveried Scot — conducted the 
baron down-stairs to the pleasant breakfast-room. Mrs. 
Bliss and Hellene were already seated at a round table 
near the fire, and also near a window. Greetings were 
interchanged, and the fat baron took his place at the 
same table with his daughter and her friend. He was 
airy, smiling, complacent, and really exerted himself to be 
agreeable, but he could not conceal the innate selfishness 


476 


INTO THE SNARE. 


of his character, nor his devotion to the gratification of 
his appetites. 

“A gross, sensual, selfish, domineering person !” 
thought Mrs. Bliss, reading his nature aright. “ I hope 
Miss Clair will have no more trouble with him. Her 
escape from him, her return to England, her prompt de- 
cisiveness of action throughout have alarmed her father, 
and he will keep to his terms with her, since it is to his 
pecuniary interest to do so.” 

With this conviction, she entertained no apprehension 
concerning Hellene’s future. 

Breakfast was eaten. Soon after the meal, Lord Clair’s 
post-chaise was announced, and Hellene, Mrs. Bliss, 
Letty and the baron took their leave of Storm Castle. 
As they rolled down the drive, Hellene looked out of the 
window for a last glimpse of the grand old stronghold 
of the MacFingals. 

“ I am sorry that Miss Brend went away without see- 
ing me or leaving me her address,” the young girl said, 
with a half sigh. “ I admired and liked her extremely 
well, and I should be glad to keep her with me always.” 

“Ah, the Quixotism of youth !” said Lord Clair, sen- 
timentally. “The charming impulses of the youthful 
are full of generosity, and are — are hare-brained,” he 
added. “ Hellene takes after her mother, Mrs. Bliss. 
My late wife was one of those impulsive creatures who 
like and dislike at sight.” 

Mrs. Bliss made no response, and the zigzag journey 
down the mountain progressed slowly. 

“I’m blessed,” said the baron, pitching forward now 
and then in a manner that was anything but delightful, 
and made him feel anything but blessed, “if this old 
Highland road does not remind me — as a caricature re- 
minds one of a magnificent picture — of the old Roman 
road leading over the mountains from Sestri Levante to 


INTO THE SNARE. 


477 


La Spezzia. But that is the beau ideal of a mountain 
load, and this is a horrible, bone-wrenching zigzag. I 
wonder that Mrs. Vavasour lived a hundred years, going 
up and down this mountain often, as she must have done 
on her doleful drives.” 

In due course of time they descended into the valley 
below and drew up at the Brae Town inn. Lord Ron- 
ald Charlton, mounted upon a rough Highland horse, 
here joined them, and they pursued their hard journey 
to Kirkfaldy, where they stopped for the night. 

The next day they journeyed on to Donellan, upon the 
Caledonian Canal. There was a picturesque little inn 
here, and the baron decided to remain here over night. 
Mrs. Bliss and Lord Ronald remained also. Upon the 
following day, the party, still entire, proceeded 'by 
steamer on the canal to Inverness. 

At this point, Lord Ronald and Mrs. Bliss separated 
themselves from the baron’s party. Lord Clair was 
determined to journey slowly, and Mrs. Bliss was in 
haste to return to the Continent, and Lord Ronald was 
anxious to see Hartson, his old friend and lawyer. 

li I am persuaded that Lord Clair will henceforth treat 
you with consideration, Hellene,” said her lover, in their 
parting interview, “ in view of the terms he has made 
with you. Write me often ; send for me, if you need 
me. And let me know when you arrive in London. I 
have given you my address.” 

And so they parted, Lord Ronald and Mrs. Bliss 
hastening southward with all rapidity. The baron, with 
his daughter and her maid, followed more leisurely to 
Aberdeen, where they remained a day in sight-seeing, 
and moved on to Edinburg, where they spent two days 
more. From each of these stopping places, Hellene 
wrote to her lover at London. Her father was attentive 
to her, was considerate of her, and exhibited more of 


478 


INTO THE SNARE. 


kindness than she had expected of him. In return, Hel- 
lene was pleasant, social, and made no allusion to past 
differences, and exhibited no distrust of him. The name 
of Lord Charlewick was not mentioned between them. 
They stopped a day at Tynemouth, and, still journeying 
southward, spent a day at York. 

And now the hour had come when Lord Clair must 
make a movement towards the accomplishment of his 
own plans, or own himself vanquished. 

Singularly enough, Hellene played directly into his 
hands. 

“ I like York,” said the young heiress, as she sat at 
dinner with her father in their private parlor at their 
hotel, after a pleasant day of sight-seeing. “ This ram- 
bling mode of journeying suits me perfectly. I have 
made a large number of purchases to-day and do not 
need to return to London immediately. Why might we 
not spend three or four days in Yorkshire ?” 

“ That is easily done,” said the baron. “ Shall we stay 
in York, or shall we go to a watering-place ?” 

“ I don’t think I care for either,” replied Hellene. “ I 
should like to see the country, and the rough Yorkshire 
peasantry, with their rude dialect — ” 

“And the wild, breezy moors,” said the baron, waxing 
poetical, his desired “ inspiration ” coming to him at last 
after days of waiting, “all a-bloom with purple heather ; 
and the dreary home where Carlotte Bronte lived and 
suffered, and — ” 

“ Oh, yes, yes !” cried Hellene, as he paused, her blue 
eyes kindling. “ Let us go to Haworth, father. I have 
always longed to see the home of Charlotte Bronte, and 
the wild moors over which she rambled.” 

The baron indulgently granted this enthusiastic re- 
quest. If he experienced any secret exultation at the 
success of his manoeuvres, he did not permit it to appear. 


INTO THE SNARE. 479 

About the middle of a pleasant forenoon, some two 
days later, Lord Clair, his daughter and her maid, dis- 
embarked at Keighley station, and securing a fly, drove 
out to Haworth. Their luggage accompanied them. 

“ We shall go from Haworth across the moors to Heb- 
den Bridge,” said the baron, “ and so on to London by 
another route.” 

They visited Haworth, and spent . some hours at the 
home of the Brontes. About three o’clock in the after- 
noon they re-entered their fly, and Lord Clair ordered 
the flyman to drive to Hebden Bridge. 

The afternoon was sultry, scarcely a breath of wind 
being astir. The wide moors were purple with their 
wealth of heather-blooms. Far and near, as they rode 
onvrard, there was no signs of habitations ; they en- 
countered no traveler ; they saw no rude toilers. On 
every hand was that wide-spread desolation and loneli- 
ness. Only the wild birds gave life to the dreary scene. 

They passed over a beaten, traveled road, and once 
Hellene stopped the vehicle and wandered with Letty to 
a little distance, picking heather-blossoms and discover- 
ing many other varieties of flowers. 

“ We’d best hasten,” said the driver, uneasily. “ There 
be a storm coming .up, and a main bad storm it be, too. 
I don’ like the look on’t.” 

The baron, with a quickened beating of his heart, 
recalled his daughter. 

“ Drive on,” he commanded. “ Does anyone live on 
these moors out of the villages ? — 1 mean, is there any 
gentleman’s place on the moors ?” 

“ Only one on this here streetch o’ moor,” said the 
flyman, “and that be Racket Hall, a Frenchman’s house, 
my lord, which the Frenchman be dead, and the tenant 
that lived there gone, and the Hall be empty, They do 


480 


INTO THE SNARE. 


say that the noble lord that owns the Hall be gooin’ to 
keep it for a shooting box.” 

“ Is this place — Racket Hall — on the direct road to 
Hebden Bridge ?” inquired the baron, carelessly. 

“ Weel, no, sir, it bean’t. It’s on a road that’s little 
traveled, that be so, sir.” 

“ We may have to take refuge there if the storm bursts 
suddenly,” remarked Lord Clair. 

The storm did burst suddenly. The sky began to 
darken until a black pall concealed all its brightness. 
The dead calm broke up before a fitful wind that swept 
over the moors, tossing the heather like billows. And 
the great drops of rain began to fall like angry tears. 
A flash of lightning, vivid and blinding, frightened the 
horses, and they bounded forward at a mad gallop. 

The cowardly baron was thoroughly alarmed. He 
had engaged the flyman. at Keighley to convey his party 
to Hebden Bridge, stopping on the way at Haworth, and 
at Racket Hall. Not desiring Hellene to know as yet 
of the existence of the latter place and his design to 
stop there, he had enjoined the flyman to preserve silence 
upon all subjects throughout the drive. His present 
allusions to Racket Hall, as if he had not previously 
engaged to stop there “for a brief visit,” were some- 
what puzzling to the stolid, doltish Yorkshire peasant 
on the box, but he scratched his head and said nothing. 
As long as he was to be well paid there was no use in 
perplexing his brains over the eccentricities and inequal- 
ities of his passengers. The baron had hailed the com- 
ing of the storm as peculiarly favorable to his designs. 
It would not excite Hellene’s suspicions were he to stop 
anywhere for shelter, but now he began to look upon 
the storm' more as an enemy than as a friend. 

“ Oh, dear ! oh, dear !” he moaned. “ We shall be 


INTO THE SNARE. 


481 


killed. The horses will run away. It lightens again ! 
This is frightful !” 

He covered his face with his hands and groaned. 

The carriage flew on, the driver keeping the horses 
well under control, but not checking their gallop. The 
wind blew with increased strength and fury ; the rain fell 
more heavily. The driver turned aside from the traveled 
road into a rutty, grass-grown track, and still hurried on 
his steeds. Letty wrapped a water-proof cloak about 
her young mistress in silence. 

After some fifteen minutes of this mad style of pro- 
gression, Racket Hall loomed in sight, almost hidden in 
its surrounding grove of trees, its tall chimneys piercing 
the darkness above it. The lawn gates were open. The 
flyman turned in at them and drove up to the house. 

At the moment he came to a halt it seemed as if the 
very floodgates of heaven were loosened. The rain fell 
in thick, blinding sheets ; the wind blew a hurricane. 
Lord Clair dashed open the door of the carriage and 
bounded out like a rubber ball, and flew up the steps. 
Hellene, gathering her cloak around her, made a quick 
spring to the ground and sped up the steps and into 
the shelter of the porch like an arrow, Letty following 
her example. The driver and horses, buffeted and 
blinded by the storm, made their way as best they 
could to the stables. 

Before the baron could knock upon the door it opened, 
and Mrs. Diggs stood upon the threshold. 

“I thought I heard a carriage,” she said, peering out. 
“Come in, sir ; come in, miss. The storm is awful.” 

The travelers, dripping with rain, obeyed her, entering 
the hall. 

“We are on our way to Hebden Bridge, madam,” 
said Lord Clair, politely, “ and are caught in the storm, 


482 


INTO THE SNARE. 


as you see. We beg you to shelter us while the storm 
rages.” 

Hellene had never seen Mrs. Diggs, whose farm was 
at some distance from Charlewick-le-Grand, and she did 
not therefore have a suspicion of her identity. The 
woman was elderly, of massive frame, and with the face 
of a woman of the Basque provinces of Spain. Her jet- 
black eyes, her swarthy face, her iron-gray hair, her 
heavy chin, her long gold earrings, her small red shawl 
crossed about her waist, all made up a picture that 
was striking and unusual. 

“You are welcome, sir and lady,” she said, with an 
unmistakable foreign accent, which all her long residence 
in England had not dissipated. “ I am only the house- 
keeper in charge ; there’s no one living here now. But 
I will do what I can to make you comfortable. My son 
shall build fires for you directly. Meanwhile, as you’re 
so wet, maybe you won’t mind coming down into the 
warm kitchen.” 

Hellene eagerly begged to be allowed to enter the 
kitchen. She was pale and shivering. Mrs. Diggs led 
the way down a rear flight of rickety stairs to a base- 
ment kitchen, where a coal fire was burning in the cook- 
ing-grate. 

This kitchen was dreary enough, with red brick floor, 
grimy walls, a dark stone hearth, smoke-blackened 
ceiling and rude deal furniture ; but it was scrupulously 
clean, and an olla podrida in a huge pot over the fire 
sent forth a savory smell. 

The storm-beaten party gathered around the fire. A 
man arose from his seat at the corner of the hearth and 
pulled a forelock of his hair in token of respectful 
greeting. This man was Peter Diggs, with a red wig 
and a red beard that contrasted singularly with his 
dusky complexion. 


INTO THE SNARE. 


483 


His mother explained to him that guests haa arrived 
unexpectedly, driven in by the storm, and that he must 
kindle fires in certain bedrooms for their use. 

The fellow hastened out on his errand. 

“ How the wind does blow !” cried Mrs. Diggs, as a 
great gust seemed to shake the stanch old house. “ I 
never saw such a storm in my life — never !” 

The baron longed to ask her if Lord Charlewick were 
in the house, but he dared not venture the question in 
Hellene’s presence. So he cowered before the fire, 
while the steam arose from his garments in a cloud, and 
he trembled at the wind and the rain, and was for a 
long time silent. 

The old woman went out and was absent some min- 
utes. The storm was raging at its fiercest when she 
returned. 

“ I have made rooms ready for you,” she said. “ They 
are the best we have, and there are fires in them. I’m 
afraid you’ll have to stay all night. The roads won’t be 
very pleasant after this rain, and it’ll come on pitch 
dark very early. Will you come up-stairs, miss ?” 

Hellene assented and arose, following her hostess. 
Letty and Lord Clair brought up the rear. 

Mrs. Diggs conducted the young lady up to the 
ground floor, upon which the guests had first entered, 
and then to the second floor. The floors and walls were 
bare, as Mr. Nizbit had left them after his long occu- 
pancy of the house. Mrs. Diggs did not open any of 
the doors opening off the passage at either side, but 
proceeded up a third flight of stairs. 

“ Why do you go up so far, my good woman ?” puffed 
the baron. 

“ Because, sir, the best rooms are all up on the next 
floor,” replied Mrs. Diggs. “These rooms are not fur- 
nished, sir.” 


484 


INTO THE SNARE. 


It will be remembered that in the description of 
Racket Hall, upon its first introduction to the reader, 
we stated that the building consisted of two plain stories 
surmounted by an extremely high and steep French 
roof, in which were set three rows of windows, signify- 
ing three additional stories. 

It was to the middle one of these three additional 
floors that Mrs. Diggs conducted Miss Clair. A narrow 
passage, from which a flight of stairs led to the topmost 
story, intersected this floor, and doors opened from it 
on both sides. Mrs. Diggs flung open one of these 
doors and stood aside respectfully, making a gesture to 
Hellene to enter. 

The young girl passed in, finding herself in a large, 
airy chamber, with a wood fire burning cheerily on the 
hearth. The floor, of polished dark woods, was cov- 
ered in the centre with a Turkey rug. There were 
tables, a couch, easy-chairs and hassocks in profusion. 
An alcove, shut off by folding-doors, set with ground 
glass and containing a bed, was at one side of the room, 
and upon the same side was a large dressing-closet, 
filled with every necessity and luxury of the toilet. 
Upon the opposite side of the room was a door com- 
municating with a maid’s bedroom. 

The one peculiarity of this room was the windows. 
Owing to the slope of the steep roof, they were set high 
up, midway the wall, and at such a slant that, even 
could they be reached, a view could be obtained from 
them of the outside world only with great difficulty. 

Hellene did not notice this peculiarity ; the baron 
did, and with the utmost satisfaction. 

“My dear child,” he exclaimed, “you must rid your- 
self of your wet clothes at once. This good woman will 
bring you up a hot drink to prevent your taking cold. 
It will be impossible to get your box or traveling-bag 


INTO THE SNARE. 


485 


in from the stable while the storm lasts, and you would 
do well to get into bed for the present. We shall all 
take our deaths of cold, I fear.” 

Hellene’s teeth chattered, and she knelt down before 
the fire, chilled to the bone. 

Lord Clair and Mrs. Diggs withdrew, closing the 
door. 

“This way, sir,” said the woman, descending the 
stairs. “Your room is down here.” 

She led him back to the second floor. 

“ I thought you said these rooms were all bare, my 
good woman,” said the baron. 

Mrs. Diggs smiled. 

“I did say so, my lord,” she replied. “But talk’s 
cheap, you know, sir. Most of these rooms are unfur- 
nished, but Lord Charlewick had a few fitted up de- 
cently. Why, a beggar wouldn’t have made his den 
here with the furniture we found when we came. We 
haven’t disturbed the rooms on that side the hall, sir. 
They’re as the Nizbits left them. These are the rooms 
my lord had new furnished ; and he had some of the 
rooms below fitted up also.” 

She flung open a door, revealing a neat, square cham- 
ber, cheaply furnished as a sitting-room. She exhibited 
also two or three bedrooms very plainly equipped, but 
witli luxurious new beds, the finest linen, and plenty of 
towels, and every appurtenance of the toilet. 

“This is your room, my lord,” she said. “They are 
exactly alike, you see.” 

“You know me, my good woman,” said the baron, 
smiling. “And yet I have never seen you before.” 

“ You are Lord Clair,” responded the woman, abruptly. 
“ I knew you at once. My lord described you to me. I 
have expected you these three days, my lord, and I did 
not expect you in such a storm. My lord said that I 


486 


INTO THE SNARE. 


was to consider you master in his absence, and to make 
you comfortable.” 

“ Then Lord Charlewick is not here ?” said the baron, 
startled. 

“No, my lord. He is gone to London. He said he 
preferred to be away when you arrived, on account of 
the young lady. He does not want her to know that 
Racket Hall belongs to him. He wants to win her love 
if he can, and he will arrive, as if by your invitation, 
to-morrow. He stayed only one day when he was 
here.” 

“His idea may be a good one,” said Lord Clair, 
doubtfully. “He’ll be here to-morrow, you say. Very 
well, then, Mrs. — Mrs. What’s-your-name ? — make us 
comfortable. Make some hot sort of tea for Miss Clair, 
and bring me hot water, brandy and sugar. I’m wet to 
the skin.” 

“ My name is Mrs. Diggs, sir — I mean, my lord. The 
boxes shall be brought up as soon as the rain stops.” 

The woman retired. A little later the desired refresh- 
ments were brought to Lord Clair, and Mrs. Diggs car- 
ried up a bowl of steaming herb tea to Miss Clair. It 
was Letty who gave her admittance. 

Hellene, wrapped in hot blankets, was in her alcoved 
bed, and a flush was beginning to kindle in her pale 
cheeks. Mrs. Diggs left the tea for her and withdrew. 

“ Now lock the door, Letty,” said her young mistress, 
as she sipped the tea. “ I am all hot fla'shes and cold 
chills, and as we cannot go on until morning, I shall 
drink my tea and get thoroughly warm, and perhaps 
sleep a little. Heat your blankets, and get into your 
bed as quick as you can. It’s an odd adventure, 
Letty.” 

“ Yes, ’m, very odd.” 

“And those are curious windows,” said Hellene. 


A GLOOMY RECEPTION. 


487 


“ This bed has never been slept in, I know. How soft 
and yielding it is, with springs like a French bed, Letty. 
And the blankets are perfectly new. It’s all very odd ; 
but hurry to bed, Letty. Your teeth are beginning to 
chattefr. Here, take half my tea.” 

But the maid declined the tea and ran into her own 
room. 

Hellene drained the bowl, and them perspiring and 
heated, she dropped off into sleep. 

She was awakened some two hours later by a loud 
crashing sound, as of a box being deposited at her door. 
Her room was dark save for the red gloom of her dying 
fire. The storm had ceased entirely, and even the wind 
had lulled. 

She started up and called Letty, in a vague apprehen- 
siveness. And as she called she heard the sound of de- 
parting wheels on the rough moor-road. 

“The fly is gone!” she exclaimed. “What does it 
mean ? Letty — come to me, Letty !” 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

A GLOOMY RECEPTION. 

As may readily be imagined, Edda Brend’s last night 
at Storm Castle was a very wakeful one. She aroused 
herself at dawn from a fitful, uneasy sort of slumber 
that had weighed down her eyelids toward morning, and 
arose at once. She took her bath, dressed leisurely, and 
said her prayers. Then she put on her jaunty little hat 
and sacque and descended to the lower rooms. 

The household was astir, but none of the guests of 


488 


A GLOOMY RECEPTION. 


the castle had yet awakened. Edda walked in the gar- 
den until a maid came out to tell her that her morning 
meal was ready, and then she proceeded to the break- 
fast-room. 

The morning was chilly, the mountain air keen but 
bracing. A small round table was drawn up close to 
the fire and spread with a luxurious meal, and Mrs. 
Macray, with a snowy cap and fresh gown, was waiting 
to do the honors. 

“ I’m sorry you’re going away, Miss Brend,” she said. 
“ We shall miss your bonny face, but it’s a clean con- 
science you’ll take with you, my dear young lady, and 
God will bless you wherever you go.” 

“ I hope so, Mrs. Macray,” said Edda, gently, taking 
her place at the table. “A cup of strong coffee, please.” 

“ I’ve packed a hamper with your luncheon with my 
own hands, Miss Edda,” continued the housekeeper. 
“ The chariot is to take you to Kirkfaldy, and you will 
take a po’-shay from that place to Donellan. Is there 
anything I can do for you before you go ?” • 

“ Nothing; I think,” said Edda. 

“ The castle will be pretty lonely again to-day,” said 
Mrs. Macray. “ Lord Clair takes his daughter away 
this morning, and the rest of Miss Clair’s party will go 
too. And the minister will go, and Mr. McKay also. 
But we shall be gay enough by-and-by, when Mr. Vava- 
sour takes off his mourning and fills the castle with 
guests. There are happy days dawning for us all, 
thanks to you, miss. Old Margery knows you are 
going this morning, and she’ll be in to see you. Here 
she comes now.” 

Margery entered even while the housekeeper was 
speaking. Edda finished her breakfast, and begged the 
waiting-woman, to attend her into the garden. 

“Margery,” she said, as they turned into one of the 


A GLOOMY RECEPTION- 489 

graveled paths, walking away from the castle, “ I want 
you to do a last favor for me. Please deliver this envel- 
ope to Mr. Vavasour when he comes. It contains my 
address in London. 1 know that 1 can trust you to 
give it to him.” 

Old Margery took the tiny packet with reluctance and 
hesitation, but promised to deliver it. 

“And if I say I’ll do it, I’ll do it,” she said, sturdily. 
“ But excuse me, Miss Brend, if I say you musn’t feel 
too much disappointed if you don’t hear from the mas- 
ter. He’ll be a rich man now, and different from the 
poor young fellow you knew, and he can marry the high- 
est lady ii) the land. Then he was longing for comfort 
and sympathy ; now all Scotland will sympathize with 
him — least-ways,” she added, with a grim humor, “ most 
of the marriageable young ladies will.” 

Edda smiled confidently, but exhibited no displeas- 
ure at Margery’s surly sort of frankness. 

The old woman presently went into the castle. Edda 
walked up and down the garden paths, now and then 
passing the breakfast-room windows. She saw that Mr. 
McKay was eating his breakfast hurriedly, and as her 
chariot at last drove up into the carriage-porch, a groom 
followed behind it leading the lawyer’s horse. 

The butler assisted Edda into her place. Her ham- 
per of provisions was carefully deposited under the 
front seat in a box prepared for such uses. And then 
the chariot moved out of the porch, and the groom led 
the lawyer’s horse into it. 

The lawyer was in waiting upon the horse-block, and 
vaulted into his saddle and rode down the mountain in 
the wake of the chariot. At Brae Town the carriage 
horses were halted a moment to drink, and Mr. McKay 
then addressed a few words to Edda, and avowed his 
intention of traveling to Kirkfaldy in her company. 


m 


A GLOOMY RECEPTION. 


“I shall be an escort for you,” he said, good-hu- 
moredly. “ I fancy we may find Mr. Vavasour at Kirk- 
faldy, and he will then thank you for your noble conduct, 
Miss Brend, and I am free to say that he will bestow 
more than thanks upon you — he will place you beyond 
need of working for your own support longer.” 

They journeyed on in company, Mr. McKay riding up 
beside the chariot at available opportunities and con- 
versing with Edda. They reached Kirkfaldy late in the 
afternoon, and Edda drove direct to the village inn and 
ordered a post-chaise to convey her to Donellan. She 
ordered a simple dinner also, and ate it while the equi- 
page was being prepared for her. Mr. McKay rode on to 
his own house, but made his appearance at the inn as 
Edda was about to enter her vehicle. 

“■Mr. Vavasour is not at Kirkfaldy,” he exclaimed. 
“ He went on to Donellan. Do you go on to-night ?” 

Edda assented. 

“ I am in haste to get to London,” she said, “ and I 
do not like to stop on the way.” 

“ May I travel with you, Miss Brend ?” asked the 
lawyer. “ I am beaten out with riding, and I must find 
Mr. Vavasour. You have engaged the only post-chaise 
in the town, and I am compelled to throw myself upon 
your mercy. I am old enough to be your grandfather, 
so Madam Grundy will have nothing to say against your 
hospitality. If you refuse me, I shall have to hire a 
farmer’s wagon,” he added, ruefully. 

“You may ride with me, Mr. McKay,” said Edda. 
“ Possibly you will confer a favor upon me by so doing, 
for three-fourths of the original contents of my hamper 
remain still.” 

The lawyer climbed into the carriage, and the weari- 
some journey re-commenced. 

The carriage lamps were lighted at a little Highland 


A GLOOMY RECEPTION. 


491 


smithy, miles further on at an intersection of roads, and 
a lamp was hung inside for the benefit of the occupants 
of the chaise. Edda and Mr. McKay discussed the con- 
tents of the hamper, doing justice to them, and talked 
until the girl’s eyelids grew heavy and her head drooped 
upon her shawl-straps. 

They were all night in making the journey to Donel- 
lan. On arriving there, they found that Dugald Vava- 
sour was gone on. 

“ I knew you would not overtake him,” said Edda. 
“ He said he should go on directly to London. He must 
have left Inverness before this.” 

“I shall go on to Inverness,” said Mr. McKay. “It is 
imperative that I find Mr. Vavasour as soon as possible. 
He has friends at Inverness. I shall find him there.” 

The hamlet of Donellan was a mere steamer station 
upon the grand chain of mountain lakes connected by a 
broad canal, and known as the Caledonian Canal. Mr. 
McKay and Edda took the first eastward-bound steamer, 
and were at Inverness long before Lord Clair’s party 
arrived at Donellan. 

But Dugald Vavasour was not to be found at Inver- 
ness. Careful inquiry elicited the fact that he had pro- 
ceeded from Inverness to London by steamer, that mode 
of travel being cheaper than the railway. 

“ There is no way to overtake him before he reaches 
London,” grumbled the old lawyer, as he announced his 
discovery to Edda, on returning to her at their hotel. 
“ I can’t telegraph to a man at sea. I’ve got to go to 
London.” 

“ I shall be glad of your company,” said Edda, gayly ; 
‘‘but then I shan’t go on till morning. I am tired out.” 

“ I might as well stop over and rest,” declared Mr. 
McKav. “ And even then we shall get to London be- 
fore Mr. Vavasour does.” 


492 


A GLOOMY RECEPTION. 


They stopped accordingly over night at Inverness, 
but resumed their journey next morning, and pushed 
through to London without stopping. They parted at 
the terminus, Mr. McKay hastening to Vavasour’s lodg- 
ings, although he was sure that Vavasour had not 
arrived, and Edda taking a cab and setting out for Cav- 
endish Square. 

At the very moment of parting, the lawyer bethought 
himself, and asked for Edda’s address. 

“ So that I can call upon you with Mr. Vavasour 
before we go back to Scotland,” he explained. 

“ I left my address with old Margery to be given to 
Mr. Vavasour when he returns to Storm Castle,” re- 
plied Edda. “ I — I can’t give you my address now, Mr. 
McKay. I must see my friend first and learn if she is 
willing that I should receive calls at her house.” 

Mr. McKay thought this a little singular, but ac- 
cepted the refusal without protest. 

“ I must tell Miss Powys everything before Dugald 
can see her,” thought Edda. “ I cannot spring such a 
surprise upon her. And I prefer that Dugald should be 
settled in his new honors and have given our projected 
marriage his most careful consideration before he comes 
to me. He must have time to know himself and to test 
his love for me under prosperity as in adversity. But I 
know what his answer will be,” and her dark face grew 
radiant and her olive cheeks flushed with happy confi- 
dence in her young lover. 

Edda experienced a natural hesitation in going to the 
mansion of Mr. Powys v ; but then where else could she 
go? 

How much had happened to her since she had left 
London ! She had passed through strange experiences, 
had plighted her troth to her lover, had been for a brief 
space a great heiress and the mistress of a castle, and 


A GLOOMY RECEPTION. 


493 


was now a promised wife. But she was the same frank 
impetuous, bright-souled girl she had been at Racket 
Hall, the same saucy, keen-witted, sunny-tempered 
young creature Miss Powys had first admired, then 
grown*to love with a passionate fervor. 

The great double house of Mr. Powys had a strange 
air of desolation as Edda alighted from her cab in front 
of it. The heavy wooden shutters covered all the win- 
dows save those in the basement. 

“ Perhaps the family is gone into the country, although 
in Miss Powys’ last letter she said that her father was 
gone upon the Continent for a month’s rest, not being 
well,” thought Edda, uneasily. She added aloud, “Wait, 
Mr. Cabman, for a moment, till I see if my friends are 
in.” 

She ran up the steps, declining the cabman’s services, 
and sounded the knocker thrice loudly. A footman, 
with crape on his arm and dressed in mourning, came 
to the door. 

Edda recoiled, trembling, and pale as ashes. 

Had she come from one house of mourning only to 
enter another ? Was — was Miss Powys dead ? 

She seized upon the door to steady herself lest she 
should fall. The footman knew her, and gently led her 
into the house and placed her upon a hall chair. 

“ Who is dead, James ?” asked the girl, a keen, sharp 
ring in her young voice, as she raised her dusky eyes in 
anguished foreboding. 

“ Mr. Powys, miss.” 

Edda drew a long, shivering sigh of relief. A moun- 
tain of trouble seemed lifted from her shoulders. 

“ I saw no crape on the door, James,” she said. “ Is 
he buried ?” 

“ No, miss. His body have not come home yet. He 
died of apoplexy in Switzerland four days ago. It was 


494 


A GLOOMY RECEPTION. 


awfully suddint. They telegraphed for Miss Powys at 
once, and she went by the next train. She will bring 
master’s body home and bury it among his kindred. 
She took master’s lawyer and one of his most intimate 
friends with her. Mr. Upham was obliged to* remain 
and see to the business, and he has a sort of charge over 
the house.” 

Edda arose. If Gascoyne Upham, her suitor and en- 
emy, were in sole charge of the house, it was clear that 
she could not remain in it until Miss Powys’ return. 
But where was she to go ?” 

“ Is Mrs. Priggs here ?” she asked. 

“No, miss ; she went with Miss Powys.” 

“Can I see the housekeeper?” she inquired. 

“ Oh, yes, miss. She is in her room. Shall I call her ?” 

Edda declined his offer and went to the housekeeper’s 
room, upon the lower floor. She found her in her room 
— a spare, severe-looking matron, long past middle age. 

She received Edda politely, but not warmly, and gave 
her much the same information the hall-footman had 
given her. 

“My employer in Scotland has died,” said Edda, a lit- 
tle unsteadily. “ Miss Powys is my only friend, and I 
have come to her. I suppose I ought not to remain 
here in her absence ?” 

“ Certainly not without her orders, miss, upon no 
account whatever, miss,” said the housekeeper, severely. 
“ I have no right to take you in without orders, even 
if you were formerly Miss Powys’ companion. And 
besides,” added the housekeeper, pursing up her lips 
virtuously, as she remembered the evenings in which 
Mrs. Priggs had acted as duenna to Edda, “ it won’t do 
for you to remain in the house with a young unmarried 
gentleman like Mr. Upham.” 

“ Can you tell me where to go ?” asked Edda. “ I 


LIGHT THROWN ON EDDA’s HISTORY. 


495 


know no one in London. If you will advise me, I know 
that Miss Powys will be grateful to you on her return.” 

Thus appealed to, the housekeeper softened a little. 

“ I know a woman who keeps a lodging-house in the 
Edgeware Road,” she said ; “ a very respectable place, 
too. I’ll wwite the address on a card, and you can refer 
her to me, if you choose, miss. But as you know so lit- 
tle about London, I advise you to keep yourself very 
quiet and to make no acquaintances. Miss Powys will 
be home in four or five days time, sure.” 

Edda received the card gratefully, and, thanking the 
housekeeper for her “ kindness,” took her leave. She 
went out to the waiting cab. The driver had mounted 
his box. The cab door was open. 

“ Drive to Edgeware Road,” said Edda, reading from 
her card ; “ number — ” 

“ Miss Brend, as I live !” cried a familiar voice behind 
her. “ This is an unexpected joy! Tve sought every- 
where for you, but I’ve found you at last.” 

Edda started and turned around, finding herself face 
to face with Gascoyne Upham. The card dropped from 
her trembling fingers. Mr. Upham stooped and picked 
it up, glancing at the address written upon it. 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

LIGHT THROWN ON EDDA’S HISTORY. 

As Edda stood before him, mute and not at all 
delighted to see him, Mr. Gascoyne Upham bit his lips 
in chagrin and annoyance. As he had said, he had 
searched for her, but vainly. He had implored Mi%s 


496 LIGHT THROWN ON EDDA’s HISTORY. 

Powys to reveal to him Edda’s whereabouts ; he had 
found imploring vain, and had dared to threaten his 
haughty cousin, but he found her immovable as rock. 
She would not give him the information he sought. 
Then, in the meanness of his small, revengeful nature, he 
had set himself to work to unearth the buried secret of 
Miss Powys’ life, and how far he had succeeded in this 
congenial task will presently be revealed. 

“ What ! no words of greetingfor me, Edda ?” he ex- 
claimed, reproachfully, his long, sharp nose standing 
out from his gaunt, unwholesome-looking face in un- 
pleasant relief. “You do not know what I have suf- 
fered since you went away.” 

“ Nonsense !” said Edda, brusquely. “ Give me my 
card. Why do you detain me in the street ?” 

She put out her hand for the card which Miss Powys’ 
housekeeper had just given her. • Upham read it again 
in a glance, and yielded it up to her with a sigh. 

“As pitiless as ever!” he said. “You know, I sup- 
pose, that Mr. Powys is dead, and that Miss Powys will 
come into all her fortune. I believe she will run the 
bank after the fashion of Baroness Coutts. Agnace has 
the spirit to do it. But it’s early to speak of that. Yet 
ril warrant that Agnace has not found it too early to 
make certain plans for her future. I am quite sure that 
she will adopt you publicly, Miss Edda, as her heiress.” 

Edda’s olive cheek flushed. 

‘ Probably Miss Powys will make known her plans to 
me as soon as to you, sir,” she said, coldly, “ if her plans 
concern me. Let me pass.” 

She waved him aside haughtily and entered the cab. 

Mr. Upham repeated the order to the driver with a 
smile. The cab rolled away, passing out of the square, 
and threading the streets between it and Edgeware 
Road. 


LIGHT THROWN ON EDDA J S HISTORY. 497 

The lodging-house to which Edda had been directed 
was a neat, brick dwelling, with cleanly-scoured door- 
stones and brightly-polished knocker. It was in a highly 
respectable neighborhood, to judge by its surround- 
ings, and Edda allowed the cabman to knock at the 
door for her, and herself alighted only as the door 
opened and a neatly-dressed housemaid made her ap- 
pearance. 

Edda was promptly ushered into the house and a 
prim little drawing-room, where the mistress of the 
house joined her. 

Edda stated her errand. 

The landlady took a calm survey of the applicant be- 
fore replying. And as Edda was equally interested in 
the appearance of the landlady, she returned the gaze 
with equal calmness. 

The landlady was a tall, thin woman, with very light 
hair, very light eyes, and very high-colored face. She 
was dressed in black alpaca that had grown gray with 
use ; she looked respectable, hard-working, and exceed- 
ingly high-tempered. 

“ I suppose you have references, miss ?” said the land- 
lady. 

“ Yes,” replied Edda. “ I lived as companion to 
Miss Powys, of Cavendish Square, and I am permitted 
to refer you to her housekeeper in the absence of Miss 
Powys herself. I desire only to remain until the re- 
turn of Miss Powys, which will be in a week or two. She 
is now on the Continent.” 

“ Oh, if that’s the case,” said the landlady, “ I can 
accommodate you. I was about to say that I had no 
room for you, but if you require it for only two weeks 
you can have my first floor front parlor and bedroom. 
It’s let to a lady, an actress at the Prince of Wales’ 
theatre, a very respectable young woman, and she went 


498 


LIGHT THROWN ON EDDA 7 S HISTORY. 


away yesterday, for a two weeks engagement at Liver- 
pool. But you must agree to leave before her return.” 

“ I would like to see the rooms, if you please.” 

The landlady conducted Edda up a flight of stairs to 
the “ first floor front.” The parlor and bedroom were 
of the usual lodging-house type of the better class, the 
walls being freshly papered, the furniture of shiny hair- 
cloth, brightened with new varnish, and the well-worn 
carpet half hidden under a gay drugget. 

Everything was clean and neat, and Edda signified 
her wish to remain, explaining her need of immediate 
shelter. 

“ I should like you to furnish my board also,” she 
said. “ How much shall you charge me for two weeks ?” 

The landlady made inquiry as to what sort of board 
was expected, and then performed various calculations 
in her head. 

“ Three pounds a week, miss,” she announced. “That 
will include everything.” 

“ I will pay one week in advance,” said the young girl. 
“ Here is the money.” 

She took out her pocketbook, counted out three 
golden sovereigns, and placed them in the woman’s 
hand. 

“You can stay now, if you wish,” said the landlady, 
graciously. “ I’ll settle with the cabby for you, and you 
can repay me. The housemaid and cook shall bring up 
your boxes. The rooms are in complete order, and the 
bed freshly made up. I always let these rooms when 
Miss DeFortescue is going to play in the provinces, and 
everything is ready for a new lodger. My name is Bight, 
miss — Mrs. Mary Ann Bight.” 

“And mine is Miss Brend. I will remain, thank you.” 

Edda removed her hat, and the landlady departed. 


LIGHT THROWN ON ELDARS HISTORY. 499 

The young girl’s boxes were presently brought up, 
and she was fairly installed in her new quarters. 

Her first movement, upon finding herself alone, was 
to examine the contents of her pocketbook. 

She had not been paid for her services at Storm Cas- 
tle, but she had a plentiful supply of money that had 
been given her by Miss Powys. Her traveling expenses 
had not materially lessened this sum, and she felt very 
rich and independent. 

The week of waiting for the return of Miss Powys 
promised to be a long one. Edda was used to out-door 
exercise, dearly loving her long walks, but she shrank a 
little from going out into London streets alone and un- 
guarded. 

“ Though no one would hurt me, of course,” she said 
to herself, smiling. “ I am old enough to take care of 
myself, I hope. Why, even little children are to be seen 
out alone in the streets. What, then, should I fear?” 

A breakfast was served to her at once, and Edda spent 
her forenoon in sleep. At one o’clock her luncheon was 
brought up to her, and Edda, now wakeful and refreshed, 
looked from her windows until the desire grew strong 
upon her to make one in the busy tide of people hurry- 
ing to and fro. She longed for the fresh air and the 
sunshine. Hyde Park was not far distant, and she had 
been there many times. She dressed herself plainly in 
a black silk street costume, drew a vail over her face, 
and left the lodging-house. A few minutes walk 
brought her to the Park. 

She spent some hours here walking about, sitting 
upon shaded benches, strolling to the Serpentine, watch- 
ing happy children, leisurely pedestrians, and the 
throngs of carriages which at the fashionable hour filled 
the drives. She spoke to no one and no one spoke to 
her, but her loneliness was greatly lessened when at 


500 


LIGHT THROWN ON EDDA’s HISTORY. 


last, as the park saunterers began to disperse, she re- 
turned to her new quarters in the Edgeware Road. 

A hansom was standing before the door of her lodg- 
ing-house as she came up, and as she entered the nar- 
row hall she came upon her old enemy, Mr. Gascoyne 
Upham, who was holding conversation with the house- 
maid. 

“ Here the young lady is now,” cried the housemaid, 
as Edda appeared. “ Perhaps you’ll believe me next 
time, sir, when I say she’s out.” 

Mr. Upham addressed himself to Edda, bowing low. 
He was handsomely dressed, and wore a buttonhole bou- 
quet, and carried a gold-topped walking-stick. 

“ Can I see you alone, Miss Brend ?” the banker’s clerk 
asked, respectfully. “ I have something of the utmost 
importance to say to you.” 

“ You can say it here, sir.” 

“It is about Miss Powys,” he replied, significantly. 

Edda hesitated, but there was that in Upham’s face — 
a look of mysterious knowledge and of sinister triumph 
— that filled her with a vague alarm about Miss Powys. 

“ Is — is she ill ?” she asked, growing pale. 

“I will say what I have to say in private,” responded 
Mr. Upham, with a glance at the housemaid. 

“ You may go up to my room,” said Edda, motioning 
to him to precede her. 

He passed on up the stairs, and Edda followed. He 
halted on the upper landing, and Edda passed him and 
unlocked the door of her little parlor, granting him 
admittance. 

He came in at once, and looked about him curiously. 

“ A humble lodging for Miss Powys’ future heiress,” 
he remarked. “ Where have you been all this time, 
Miss Edda, since leaving my cousin ?” In the country, 
of course. Have you been back to Yorkshire ?” 


LIGHT THROWN ON KDDA’s HISTORY. 


501 


“My movements can hardly interest you,” said Edda, 
coldly — “ at least, they ought not. Have you heard 
from Miss Powys since morning ?” 

“Yes ; it was partly that brought me here,” said 
Upham, taking a seat. “ My uncle died at Lausanne. 
There is some little delay about bringing him home — 
the telegram does not explain — and Miss Powys will not 
be home under a week.” 

“ I did not expect her sooner. Is she well ?” 

“ As she says nothing about her health, she is prob- 
ably well. My uncle will be buried at his country place, 
among his kindred. Agnace is fearfully cut up by her 
father’s death. She was intending to go to Scotland for 
a month to visit an old friend at a castle in the High- 
lands, when the summons came to her from Switzerland. 
And by a curious coincidence, the very morning she 
went away, I saw in the London morning newspaper 
that her old Scottish friend had just died. Agnace will 
probably close the town house on her return and send 
me into lodgings,” continued Mr. Upham, “while she 
retires to her country seat. The fashionable season is 
over in town, and Agnace will prefer quiet. Her father’s 
death will make a complete change in her life.” 

“ I suppose so,” said Edda, thoughtfully. 

“ Agnace is her own mistress now absolutely,” re- 
marked Mr. Upham. “ Before, she had her father to 
consider. She was tenderly attached to him, and he 
idolized her. But his death will revolutionize her whole 
life. I dare say she will adopt you with due form of 
law, Miss Brend, as her heiress.” 

“So you said this morning,” replied Edda, calmly, 
“ but your suppositions are not warranted. I beg you 
not to repeat such a statement.” 

“ Agnace has not liked me for years,” remarked Mr. 
Upham, paying no heed to the girl’s rebuke. “ I dare 


502 LIGHT THROWN ON EDDA’s HISTORY. 

say she means to discharge me ; I’m only a confidential 
clerk, you know, Miss Edda. But I understand the busi- 
ness thoroughly, and I have always expected to be made 
partner with my uncle. If Agnace continues the bank, 

I mean to be partner in it !” 

“ Did you come here to tell me this ?” 

“Yes, that was my errand,” said Upham, coolly. “I 
came to tell you that I intend to be partner in the bank, 
and also how I intend to achieve such grand success. It 
must come through you.” 

“ Then I fear you will be only a clerk all your days, Mr. 
Upham,” said Edda, scornfully. “ If you expect me to 
advance your interests with Miss Powys, your expecta- 
tions will be disappointed.” 

“ I differ with you. But perhaps you don’t under- 
stand the grounds upon which I base my hopes. You 
doubtless remember that I made you an offer of mar- 
riage, and that you rejected me. You may also remem- 
ber certain remarks I made in reference to your origin 
and my determination to know your parentage. I see 
you do remember. Very good. I have applied myself 
to the task of investigating your origin, and have made 
some remarkable discoveries. I may as well tell you 
that I began my task by studying the private life of my 
cousin Agnace.” 

There was a deep and sinister triumph in his manner, 
an evil exultation in his pale eyes and about his thin lips 
that thrilled the girl with a keen alarm. What had he 
discovered ? He hastened to tell her. 

“I suppose that perfect frankness will be best,” said 
Mr. Upham, quietly. “ All this is preliminary to a cer- 
tain proposition I have to make to you, but it is a neces- 
sary preliminary. In the first place, my cousin Agnace 
looks to be about five-and-twenty years of age, yet she 
is in reality ten years older. These blonde women, 


LIGHT THROWN ON EDDA ? S HISTORY. 


503 


reared in luxury, waited upon and tended like children, 
without necessity for physical toil beyond ball-giving 
and party-going, never show their age. Agnace is the 
most grandly-beautiful woman in London — except your- 
self, Miss Edda, and I own that I admire a sparkling lit- 
tle brunette beauty like yourself above all created 
beings,” he added, gallantly, and with a look of undis- 
guised love and admiration. 

“ Have you not strayed from your subject ?” asked 
Edda, ironically. 

“ If so, a return is easy,” he replied. “ I set myself to 
work to investigate the past life of my beautiful cousin, 
and I will give you the result of my researches.” 

“ I refuse to hear it. I am not one to pry into any 
one’s secret affairs !” cried. Edda, hotly. “ Don’t think 
me as base as yourself, Mr. Upham.” 

An angry flush- lit up the bank-clerk’s face with an 
unpleasing glow. 

“You will hear it,” he exclaimed, “or you will rue 
your refusal to the day you die. I hold Agnace Powys 
in my power. I will crush her remorselessly unless you 
stay my hand. Ah, you begin to comprehend me, do 
you ? You begin to see that I am not any longer the 
lamb-like hanger-on of Miss Powys, ready to fetch and 
carry, to play the escort and errand-boy ; but one who 
can be her friend and yours, or else a pitiless, remorse- 
less enemy of you both.” 

There was a ferocity in Upham’s tones that alarmed 
Edda. She began to be afraid of him. “ My cousin 
Agnace was early left motherless,” continued the bank- 
clerk, more' mildly.- “She was her father’s idol. He 
provided a good, easy-going governess for her, who per- 
mitted her the widest liberty ; she had her own maid, 
Mrs. Priggs ; and she stayed in town when she chose : 
or, if she preferred, she remained for months at my 


504 


LIGHT THROWN ON EDDA’s HISTORY. 


uncle’s country seat. Adjoining my uncle’s country 
place was a charming villa occupied by a family named 
Taylor, with whom Agnace became very intimate. In 
this family were two young ladies and two young gen- 
tlemen, wild young fellows, fond of races and betting, 
and given to sowing their wild oats profusely. They 
are both dead since then. Upon one of their visits home 
they brought with them a Spanish-looking young man 
named Henry Brend.” 

Edda experienced a thrill of interest in the narration, 
yet even now she would have refused to listen but that 
the communication was forced upon her. 

“This Brend was very dark, with Spanish eyes and a 
curling black mustache. Agnace was fair as a lily. He 
was fiery and impassioned ; .she seemed cold as Arctic 
snows. Of course they fell in love with each other. Ag- 
nace had no mother, as I said ; her father was in town 
devoted to his business ; her governess made no attempt 
to control the spoiled young heiress, and did not even 
watch over her as she should ; and Agnace was romantic 
and thoughtless. Brend made love to her with the fire 
and zeal of a Spaniard. He told her some romantic 
story about himself ; that he was an orphan, and the heir 
of great estates, and Agnace believed him. They met al- 
most daily. They exchanged letters ; they met in the old 
park, and walked by moonlight. The end of all this 
came at last. Agnace, not properly guarded or looked 
after, spoiled, untrained and romantic, promised to marry 
Brend secretly. Accordingly, one morning in early Sep- 
tember, the Taylor young people came up to London on 
a shopping expedition, and Agnaceaccompanied them. 
So much I have learned from one of the Miss Taylors, 
now a married lady living in Lancashire. She had no 
suspicion of the truth to which all this led — of the cul- 
mination of all this romantic courtship.” 


LIGHT THROWN ON EDDA’s HISTORY. 


505 


“ And — and she married him that day ?”’ said Edda, 
voluntarily. 

“Yes. The young people separated on arriving in 
town, Agnace saying that Mr. Brend, who was with 
them, should take her to call upon her father at the 
bank. My uncle had never seen Brend, and did not sus- 
pect his existence even. And Agnace knew her father 
would be angry at her visit to town unaccompanied by 
her governess. She did not go to the bank. Brend had 
a special license in his pocket, and took her to a church 
in the city, and they were legally married. He gave her 
the certificate of the marriage, or the clergyman did, 
and she retained it. They rejoined the Taylor party, 
and kept their own secret. I have discovered the record 
of that ill-advised marriage, and have a copy of the reg- 
istry in my possession.” 

“ How does all this concern me ?” 

“ You shall hear. Agnace came up to town in Novem- 
ber to remain with her father. The governess married 
and went to one of the British colonies. Agnace begged 
her father for a season of freedom, and would have no 
new governess. The Taylors came up to town and took 
a house, and Agnace was there almost daily, and met 
Brend there very often. In December Brend disap- 
peared. No one knew where he went. The Taylors 
were as ignorant as the rest. I had met Brend at the 
Taylor house several times, and I hated him, for I fan- 
cied myself at that time in love with Agnace, and I 
looked upon him as a rival. After his disappearance 
Agnace changed from the bright, impulsive girl we had 
known, into a silent creature, who kept much to her 
room and the society of Mrs. Priggs. In the following 
April — I can put all these things together now — she 
begged her father to allow her to visit a Miss Vavasour, 
at Storm Castle, in the Highlands. She had often been 


506 LIQJIT THROWN ON EDDA’s HISTORY. 

there before, and her mother had formerly visited old 
Mrs. Vavasour. My uncle consented, and Agnace went 
away attended only by her maid. She was absent two 
months, and returned pale and thin, but haughty and 
cold and icy, the woman she has been ever since. Her 
life since then has been one stern self-repression. She 
wrote twice to her father during her absence, once on 
her pretended arrival at Storm Castle, and once before 
her return home. I have reason to believe that she 
traveled with her maid to Kirkfaldy, did not go on to 
the castle, but returned to Yorkshire for a month or 
more. It was all cunningly managed, Miss Edda, and 
no suspicion was awakened that she did not spend all 
her time of absence in the Highlands.” 

“This seems to be a rehearsal of facts known to 
everyone,” said Edda, coldly. “With the exception of 
the marriage, and of certain curious suspicions of your 
own, I see no harm of her going to the Highlands, al- 
though May was early for such a visit.” 

“ It was early, ” declared Upham, with emphasis. “ And 
ah, by the way, I have made a new acquaintance since 
you went away, Miss Edda. I refer to your delightful 
relative, Mr. Nizbit.” 

“You have seen Mr. Nizbit?” 

“ That startles you, does it? I put a little advertise- 
ment in the newspapers ‘that Mr. Nizbit, of Racket 
Hall,’ would hear of something to his advantage, etc., 
by applying, etc., and, sure enough, I had a letter from 
the old fellow dated Brighton. I ran down to see him, 
and pumped him dry of all his knowledge concerning 
you. I heard all about ‘ little Mrs. Brend,’ who was a 
mere school-girl, and so on, and putting dates together 
I discovered that my proud Cousin Agnace spent a 
month or six weeks at Racket Hall, and gave birth 
while there to a daughter whom she named Edda Brend. 


LIGHT THROWN ON EDDA S HISTORY. 


507 


On leaving the Hall she went on to the Highlands, re- 
turning as I have stated. In short, I have discovered 
that Agnace Powys was secretly married to Henry 
Brend, that a child was born of that marriage, and that 
that child is yourself.” 

“Not every Paul Pry meets with such distinguished 
success. You fancy that you have made great discov- 
eries. What good will they do yon ?” 

“ I haven’t told you yet why Agnace never avowed her 
marriage to her father or owned her child,” said Upham. 
“I have discovered that Henry Brend was a villain and 
a ruffian, despite his gentlemanly appearance. He was 
leagued with a band of thieves and desperate characters. 
There must have been something essentially low and vile 
in him to enable him to associate with such men. He 
had run through a fortune, it was supposed, though I 
have not been able to discover whence he came, whether 
he had relatives or a home. He lived like a gentleman 
while he secretly consorted with men of the very lowest 
grade, outcasts from good society, educated men who 
had gone to the bad, and even downright ruffians. You 
find it hard to understand all this ? He was born bad — 
he must have been. He turned to wickedness as ducks 
take to water. I discovered all this through a criminal 
lawyer who knew him after he got into trouble.” 

“ What was his trouble ?” 

“ He ran through his fortune and took to gambling. 
That brought him among a bad lot to begin, then. He 
cheated at cards ; that, on being found out, procured him 
the acquaintance of a viler set still. He got desperate 
and was induced to join four men in what is now known 
as 1 the great jewel robbery of Bond street/ It was 
twenty years ago, before your birth, Miss Brend. His 
four associates were what is known as professional 
cracksmen. One was an ex-officer of the army, brought 


508 


LIGHT THROWN ON EDDA S HISTORY. 


low by dissipation, another was a broken-down lawyer^ 
the remaining two had been thieves from infancy. How 
Brend, even with all his dare-deviltry, came to join them 
in such a desperate scheme I cannot comprehend, but 
the fact remains — he did join them. The robbery was 
effected in the night. The thieves were in the act of 
escaping with their plunder when they were discovered. 
There was a speedy trial, and the four men were sen- 
tenced to transportation. The two professional thieves 
got penal servitude for life. The ex-officer got twenty 
years, and the lawyer got the same. Nothing having 
been alleged against Brend’s previous life, he got fifteen 
years of penal servitude with hard labor, the lightest 
sentence of all. He was tried and sentenced under the 
name of Tom Halloran, alias Henry Brend. There were 
a great many topics of public interest at that time, the 
trial was brief and hurried, and the four confederates 
had left English shores within a week from the time of 
the attempted robbery, so that I never suspected Brend’s 
fate. Agnace Powys’ husband and your father, there- 
fore, was a penal convict !” 

Edda had never suspected the truth to be so bad as 
this, but the manner of Upham was sufficiently convinc- 
ing. The secret of her origin was indeed revealed. Her 
young soul flooded with bitterness and pain. 

Upham’s face glowed now with his triumph. 

“ Have I made it all clear ?” he demanded. “ The 
lawyer who was employed by Brend said that his client 
was the most reserved fellow he ever met. He would 
say nothing about himself, his friends or his past. He 
would not employ eminent counsel. He shrunk from 
observation. He seemed to fear being recognized by 
someone who had formerly known him. But the night 
before he sailed, he made a remark to the lawyer which 
explained why he had not appealed to any of his own 


LIGHT THROWN ON EDDA’s HISTORY. 509 

friends. He said, in these very words : ‘ I am booked 

for transportation, anyhow. If I were to declare myself 
a prince of the blood, and summon friends around me 
and employ eminent counsel, they could not save me, 
and I should only cover my real name with ignominy. 
And I may want to use my real name by-and-by. Even 
my friends could not procure a pardon for me, after my 
career. Nothing remains but to make the best of it — to 
go to Australia — and to escape when I get there. I’ll be 
back within a year.’ And so he went, buoyed up by the 
hope and determination to escape. But he never came 
back. They say he died out there.” 

Edda drew a long sigh of relief. 

“ But I doubt it,” said Upham, after a pause. “ He 
did not escape — that is clear. He served his fifteen 
years to the very end. There’s no proof that he’s dead. 
I believe that he is alive, and that he may return to 
England at any time. People who knew him have for- 
gotten him. He’s sure to come back. The dark episode 
of his life need never transpire, he doubtless says to 
himself. He plunged into crime and bore the penalty 
simply because he had to bear it, and appeal would do 
no good. He’ll come back again as suddenly as he went 
away, and he will humble Agnace Powys’ pride in the 
very dust.” 

Edda shivered, but was silent. 

“You confessed once that you loved someone you 
had known in Yorkshire,” cried Upham, abruptly. 
“ Would he marry you, knowing you to be the daughter 
of a convict ?” 

“Yes, yes,” said Edda, proudly. 

Upham’s eyes glittered tigerishly. 

“Would you marry him,” he demanded, “and bring 
disgrace on his name ? The merest Yorkshire clod- 
hopper would not desire a convict father-in-law. And 


510 


LIGHT THROWN ON EdWs HISTORY. 


Henry Brend is likely to reappear and to claim you as 
his daughter.” 

Edda’s olive cheeks whitened more than they had done 
before. The question put by Upham adapted itself 
more especially to her case. Could she marry Dugald 
Vavasour, the master of Storm Castle, even if he urged 
her, knowing all the truth concerning her — could she 
marry him when her father was likely to reappear and 
claim her as his child, and so involve her husband’s 
name in scandal and disgrace ? 

She could not answer that question now. 

“And if Brend does not return, l am here !” exclaimed 
Upham. “I have laid the case before you. Now, the 
point of all this is to be shown. I love you. If I marry 
you, Agnace will make you her heiress, and I shall be 
rich ; whereas now I’m only a clerk liable to dismissal, 
since my uncle is dead. Marry me, and I will be good 
to you, and will do my best to make you happy. 
Refuse me, and by the God that made me ! I swear to 
cover the name of Agnace Powys with disgrace, to 
crush her proud spirit, to proclaim her the unowned 
wife of a convict, the mother of a child whom she aban- 
doned ! If you’ve no thought for yourself, think of her. 
Your mother’s fate is in your hands. What is it to be ?” 




SUSPICIONS VERIFIED. 


511 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

SUSPICIONS VERIFIED. 

In response to the frightened call of her young mis- 
tress, Letty came hurrying into Miss Clair’s chamber. 
Hellene was sitting up in bed, white and startled. 

“ Oh, Letty !” she cried, as the girl appeared. “ Our 
ily is going. What can it mean ?” 

Letty hearkened. The sound of carriage-wheels re- 
treating over the rough moor road was plainly audible, 
but was lessening on the hearing with every instant. It 
was impossible to look out of the windows. In her be- 
wilderment Letty flew to the door, unlocked and opened 
it. 

Miss Clair’s trunk, purchased at York, and filled with 
necessary articles of clothing, stood just outside the 
door, and her traveling-bag and Letty’s portmanteau 
were upon it. 

“ They have brought up your box, Miss Hellene,” said 
the maid, “so that you have dry clothes to put on, at 
any rate. Perhaps the carriage was only a vehicle pass- 
ing on the road.” 

“ I will soon know,” said the young lady, with decision. 
“ Take out a complete suit of dry garments, Letty. I 
shall dress immediately. I feel as if something were 
wrong, and I must know what it is. 

Letty took out an entire suit of clothing for her young 
mistress, as directed. Then she piled fresh sticks of 
wood upon the dying fire, and the quick red blaze filled 
the room with light. Dismissing Letty to make her own 
toilet, Hellene arose and dressed herself with haste. 


512 


SUSPICIONS VERIFIED. 


Her new mourning dress, which she had worn from 
Storm Castle, was limp and damp, but she had pur- 
chased a black silk dress and a sleeveless velvet jacket 
at York, and these were donned, with soft lace ruffs at 
neck and wrists. She put up her fair hair with her own 
hands, and was completely dressed when Letty again 
appeared. 

“ I am going to find my father now,” she said. “ Wait 
here till I come back, Letty.” 

She hurried out, descending the two flights of stairs 
that intervened between her room and the second floor. 

She flitted along the passage, and was about to da*- 
scend to the basement, when a door at her right opened 
and Lord Clair looked out upon her. 

“Where are you going, Hellene?” he demanded, 
sharply. 

“I was looking for you, sir,” she answered. “ I want 
to speak with you.” 

“Come in here, then. Or stay, we’ll go down to the 
lower floor together. I am as hungry as a wild beast. 
I’ve been asleep, I think.” 

They descended to the lower floor— the hall we have 
described as dingy and bare. Lord Clair opened a door 
upon one side of the passage, and ushered Hellene into 
it. It was newly-furnished after a gaudy and incongru- 
ous fashion, but there was a pleasant coal fire burning 
in the grate, and lights burned on the mantel-piece. A 
table was placed in the centre of the room, and laid for 
dinner. 

“ This is the dining-room of the establishment,” said 
the fat baron, in his easiest tone. “You get a fine view 
of the moors, I should think, from these windows in the 
day-time, but it’s dark now. Sit down.” 

“ How new everything looks,” said Hellene, suspi- 
ciously, “ Who lives here, father ?” 


SUSPICIONS VERIFIED. 


513 


“ No one at present but the .old woman and the man 
we saw, my dear. The place is called Racket Hall, and 
is the shooting-box of a wealthy nobleman who has 
recently fitted it up for his occupancy during the shooting 
season. The housekeeper tells me that she expects her 
master every day, and that she has everything in readi- 
ness for his arrival.” 

“ I heard the sound of carriage-wheels half-an-hour 
ago, father,” said Hellene. “ Is our fly gone ?” 

“Yes, it’s^gone,” replied the baron, composedly. „ 

“ What, gone, father ! Did you send it away ? What 
are we to do?” 

“ We are to make the best of an unpleasant adventure 
and remain here all night,” declared the baron, lightly. 
“ The roads are in an extremely bad condition after the 
storm ; the night is dark ; and we should flounder in the 
mud for hours, and perhaps get lost on the moors if we 
attempted to go on to-night. The housekeeper says we 
can stay, so stay it is.” 

“ But why did the carriage go ?” 

“Because the driver is a pig-headed Yorkshireman 
who would not remain till morning. I was obliged to 
pay him up and let him go back to Keighley. I think 
he blames me in some way for the storm. At any rate, 
he would go, and is gone.” 

Hellene was scarcely satisfied with this explanation, 
but was obliged to accept it in lieu of a better one. 

“ How are we to get away in the morning ?” she 
inquired. 

“ The housekeeper’s son will take us on to Hebden 
Bridge station in his spring cart,” said Lord Clair. “ I 
have already arranged the matter with him.” 

“To what nobleman does this place belong, father ?” 
asked Hellene. 

“ Why, how inquisitive you are !” laughed the baron. 


514 


SUSPICIONS VERIFIED. 


“ I have not thought to ask that question. What does it 
matter who owns it, since we only crave a night’s shel- 
ter ?” • 

Mrs. Diggs appeared at this juncture with a well- 
loaded tray. The dinner was soon ready for the guests. 
The baron handed Hellene to her seat and took his place. 
He was gay and lively, in a state of supreme self-satis- 
faction. Everything had worked well, according to his 
plans. Hellene had fallen into the snare he had laid for 
hjer, and now that he had her completely in his power,- 
he resolved to force her remorselessly into a marriage 
with the earl. 

“ I dare say Charlewick has not been a saint,” he said 
to himself, “and his twenty years of mysterious absence 
may cover horrible secrets, but all that’s past and gone. 
Who wants to rake over dead ashes ? He’s an earl now, 
rich, and honored. What have I to do with his secrets ? 
Hellene will be as happy, as his wife, as the majority of 
women are happy in their fashionable marriages, and if 
the earl has a secret, and I can get at it, I may be able 
to feather my nest at his expense, in a manner I never 
even dreamed. of ! My fortunate star is in the ascendant 
at last !” 

In spite of her efforts, Hellene could not rid' herself of 
a feeling of distrust and anxiety. The dinner was alto- 
gether better than would naturally be set before unknown 
and storm-bound travelers. There were wines, too, of 
choice vintage, her father’s favorite -sherry and cham- 
pagne. Mrs. Diggs was very silent as she waited upon 
the table, seeming to know her place thoroughly, yet 
once of twice Hellene fancied that Lord Clair and Mrs. 
Diggs exchanged significant glances when she, Hellene, 
spoke of continuing the journey on the morrow. 

After dinner Mrs. Diggs retired, saying that she would 
convey Letty’s dinner to her. 


SUSPICIONS VERIFIED. 515 

“ Let us fancy ourselves the owners of this shooting- 
box for this one evening, Hellene,” said the baron, good- 
naturedly. “ Shall we play at draughts, or chess ? I 
don’t understand chess very well, but I am willing to do 
anything to contribute to your amusement.” 

“ I see there are late London daily newspapers here,” 
remarked Hellene. “ How do they come here on this 
lonely moor, father? They are very recent.” 

“ They come by rail, I suppose. I told you that the 
owner of this place is expected here every day. He 
probably subscribed to certain newspapers for a month 
to beguile the weariness of the place.” 

Hellene glanced over the journals, but she was rest- 
less and fatigued. She had had a hard day, and pres- 
ently took her leave of her father for the night and went 
back to her lonely dormitory in the steep French roof. 

On being left alone, Lord Clair summoned Mrs. Diggs 
to a conference in the dining-room. 

Entering her room, Hellene found it lighted with can- 
dles, the fire burning, and Letty waiting for her. 

“ I wonder they brought me up here,” said Miss Clair. 
“My father has a room on the second floor. Has the 
housekeeper been up to see you, Letty ?” 

“Yes, miss, she brought me up my dinner. It seems 
as if I had seen her somewhere before, ” said Letty, “but 
I can’t just mind where. I don’t like her looks, Miss 
Hellene.. She says that our fly is gone, and that we are 
to go on in the morning in her son’s spring-cart.” 

Hellene talked over the situation with her maid, but 
both were loth to express suspicion that all was not 
right. Hellene did not return to her father that night, 
but locked her door and went to bed early. 

The next morning, when she arose, she dressed her- 
self leisurely, with Letty’s assistance, and was about to 
go down-stairs when, after a low knock upon her door, 


516 


SUSPICIONS VERIFIED. 


the housekeeper entered the room. She carried a large 
salver in her hands, which she deposited upon a small 
table. Then she went out into the hall and returned 
with a basket of wood, which was in waiting outside the 
door. 

“ Lord Clair’s compliments to you, Miss Clair,” said 
the woman, pausing and fumbling at the lock upon the 
door, dexterously removing the key from the inside 
to the outside' of the lock. “ His lordship hopes you feel 
well this morning, but he is ill in bed with rheumatics, 
and he begs not to be disturbed on no account what- 
ever. The wetting he got yesterday has made him un- 
able to rise, and he can’t go on to-day, with his best love 
to you, miss.” 

“ If he is ill I must go to him at once !” said Hellene, 
firmly, moving toward the door. “Ill, in a strange 
house, on a lonely moor — how terrible ! I will go to 
him.” 

“Which he said you should not,” said Mrs. Diggs, 
with equal firmness, blocking the way. “ He will not 
see you, miss. He says he won’t have a scene.” 

“A scene ! Why should I make a scene because he 
is ill and we are detained a day ? Has a doctor been 
sent for ?” 

Mrs. Diggs grinned a negative. It was very evident 
that Lord Clair’s illness was not serious. In truth, he 
stood just outside his daughter’s door, listening eagerly 
to the colloquy between his daughter and her enemy. 

. “ If the owner of the house should arrive to-day what 
an unpleasant predicament for us to be in,” said Hel- 
lene. 

“ He will be here to-day, miss. I expect him this 
morning.” 

“ Stand aside, then. I am going to my father.” 

Mrs. Diggs stood immovable as stone. 


TWO WOMEN. 


517 


A horrible suspicion flashed upon Hellene’s mind. 

“To whom does this house belong?” she asked. 

“ To Odo, Earl of Charlewick,” replied Mrs. Diggs, 
grandly. “ And I am his old nurse and faithful servant, 
Mrs. Diggs, of Little Charlewick, miss. My lord will 
be here soon, and he may come up to see you with 
Lord Clair. Your pa wished me to say that there’ll be 
no Ronald Charlton to rescue you here, and that this 
time he’s sure he’s got you safe, and that you can have 
your freedom at any minute by promising to marry 
Lord Charlewick !” 

The woman retreated suddenly, and the door was 
locked and barred upon the prisoners. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

TWO WOMEN. 

While Lord Clair had been so leisurely carrying out 
his villainous plans to their ultimate success, the Earl 
of Charlewick, haunted by a thousand fears, had been 
moving restlessly from place to place, without actual 
design other than seeking diversion from his own 
thoughts. He had visited Racket Hall, spending but 
one day there, but the loneliness of the moors oppressed 
him. He had hurried away, stopping at the nearest 
town of any size, and buying the furniture which he 
had sent on, and which Mrs. Diggs had subsequently 
arranged according to his previous directions. Then 
he had proceeded to London, thence to the south coast, 
where he dismissed the French yacht he had hired, and 
which he was not likely to again require, and then he 


518 


TWO WOMEN. 


returned again to London, stopping a day or two at the 
Alexandra Hotel. 

During this stay in town he purchased wines and vari- 
ous other luxuries, sending them by express to “Mrs. 
Dee,” Racket Hall ; he also subscribed for two or three 
daily newspapers, ordering them sent to Moor End, the 
post-office nearest the Hall, causing them also to be 
addressed to Mrs. Dee — meaning Mrs. Diggs, whose name 
he shortened to its initial. 

He was secretly fearful lest some suspicion might have 
become directed to him as the murderer of Dingo. He 
read the newspaper accounts of the inquest, and secretly 
trembled at the speculations concerning “Spanish Bob,” 
but these speculations were all wide of the truth. A 
morbid desire grew upon him to see Mrs. Dingo and 
probe the extent of her husband’s communications to 
her. Yet he dared not visit her, lest in doing so he 
should draw suspicion upon himself. 

“ I wish I was well out of the country,” he thought. 
“ I’d like to go to Spain a year or two. Dingo was only 
a low fellow, and his murder would be passed over as 
the result of a drunken quarrel with one of his own 
kind, were it not for these allusions to Spanish Bob, who 
is rich and honored, but whose past life held a mystery 
to which this unfortunate Dingo held the key. Why, 
that sentence might almost fix the eyes of the police 
upon me ! I did not suppose that Dingo’s death would 
provoke more than a casual paragraph, and though, to 
be sure, it is not a ‘ sensation,’ yet the papers seem to 
harp on it in a quiet way. Of course, my name has 
never even been thought of in connection with Dingo’s 
death, but were I once suspected, what a chain of evi- 
dence could be wrought out against me ! He accosted 
me as Spanish Bob in Piccadilly — Clair and that hotel 
clerk can testify to that. And I showed terror at sight 


TWO WOMEN. 


519 


of him. He came to see me that very day, at this hotel ; 
Clair met him here, and these hotel servants saw him. I 
was out until late that night, and came home with a 
blood stain on my waistcoat. I carry a stiletto, and 
Peter Diggs is aware of the fact. I am half Spanish ; I 
owned that the fellow had been my servant, and there is 
the mystery of my singular disappearance twenty years 
ago, and my absence during twenty years, when all my 
friends believed me murdered and dead. A bad case, 
but they could hardly convict me upon even the evi- 
dence I have summed up. They may prove that I had 
reason to kill him ; they cannot prove that I killed him.” 

This reasoning satisfied him for the moment. But he 
said to himself, restlessly : 

“ An arrest — even suspicion directed against me — 
would bring upon me a lot of ghouls and vampires whom 
I knew on the other side of the earth. My secret would 
be threatened with discovery — no, I will get off to Spain 
immediately — as soon as I shall have married Hellene. 
Until my marriage with her, I will remain at Racket 
Hall, allowing people to believe that I am upon the 
Continent. I must hurry up my marriage. Clair must 
exercise his parental authority. I love the girl — I hate 
Ronald. It will be some compensation for my annoy- 
ances if I make her my wife and make him poor and 
miserable for life ! By Jove ! it would make me happy 
to know that he was miserable !” 

There was nothing to detain him in London, and he 
made a hurried visit to his ancestral home of Charle- 
wick-le-Grand. The mansion was in the care of an old 
woman and her husband, the former second gardener 
and his wife, who had left their own comfortable cottage 
at the earl’s command to take charge of the great house. 
They were Germans and had come to Charlewick-le- 
Grand during the long absence of Lord Odo Charlton, 


520 


TWO WOMEN. 


and knowing nothing of his early life had no feeling 
against him, which fact accounted for their retention by 
the present earl. 

Lord Charlewick passed through the village of Little 
Charlewick in the early evening and hastened on to his 
home. The grand old pile of buildings of gray stone, 
with their slender turrets and stately towers and. lovely 
windows, shone in the pale starlight as if covered with a 
hoar frost. The great park, with its ancient trees, in- 
closed the house, gardens and terraces like a guardian 
army. 

The earl dismissed his cab at the lodge gates and let 
himself into the grounds, and walked slowly up the ave-' 
nue, which was half a mile in length. The mansion 
seemed uninhabited. He passed around to the servants’ 
quarters and knocked loudly upon the door of the ser- 
vants’ entrance. The German gardener opened the 
door, giving his master admittance. Charlewick stalked 
by him in silence, making his way to the kitchen. 

The table was laid for supper. A savory rabbit-stew 
was on the fire. A jug of beer, with a thick froth upon 
it, stood on the table. The German woman, a broad- 
faced, honest-souled frau, greeted her master with a cry 
of surprise and a voluble welcome. The German man, 
a stolid, good-natured fellow, dusted a chair and offered 
it to the earl. 

“ If we had only known you were coming, my lord,” 
said the woman, anxiously: “ But I’ll prepare your room 
directly, and light the library, and — ” 

“ I’m in no hurry,” said the earl. “ Your kitchen is as 
clean as marble. I’ll sit with you awhile. You can pre- 
pare my room after you get your supper. I shall go 
away in the morning. I am going over to Spain to visit 
my mother’s people, and I ran down from London to see 


TWO WOMEN. 


521 


if all is right here. Does Graham look after affairs as he 
ought ?” 

“Yes, my lord,” replied the gardener. “He comes 
here every day.” 

“ That is well. He was faithful to my father, and I 
believe he will be faithful to me. You are to obey him 
implicitly during my absence. Is everything going on 
well here and at Little Charlewick ?” 

“Yes, my lord,” said the gardener. 

“ Is there any news ?” inquired the earl, cautiously. 
“ Any gossip ?” 

“Why, there’s always gossip in a village, my lord,” 
said the housekeeper, hesitatingly. “ They do talk about 
your lordship’s strange absence and strange return, and 
they do gossip because Lord Ronald, who was always 
thought the heir, is turned out of his home as poor as 
any clerk. But gossip is only gossip, my lord,” she 
added, repenting her frankness, “ and the one who has 
most money and power has the most friends.” 

“ I like them to gossip,” said the earl, although he 
scowled as he said it. “ I like the villagers to regret 
Ronald and to suffer on his account, the miserable 
wretches. Has anyone been here to see me since I left ? 
Have there been tourists to look at the house, any cur- 
ious beggars or tramps inquiring about me ?” he added, 
trying to speak carelessly. 

“ Why, yes, my lord,” said the housekeeper, wonder- 
ingly. “ There are always such people about ?” 

“ But who has been here ?” cried the earl, command- 
ingly. “ Who, I ask. Describe them to me.” 

“ Why, the other day, it must be near a week now, sir,” 
said the housekeeper, quite bewildered at her employer’s 
interest in such ordinary and trivial matters, “ a lady 
called to see the house, my lord. Charlewick-le-Grand 
has always been shown to strangers, so I took her 


522 


TWO WOMEN. 


through the picture-gallery and the state-rooms. She 
asked me a great many questions, my lord, about your 
lordship. She had heard from the landlady of the inn, 
at Little Charlewick all about your lordship’s disappear- 
ance twenty years ago, and your lordship’s reappear- 
ance in the very hour the late earl died, and she would 
have me tell it all over to her, and describe your lord- 
ship, even to your very complexion, my lord.” 

“ And how did she look ?” asked the earl, hoarsely. 

“She was tall and slender, my lord, and as beautiful 
as an empress,” said the German woman, enthusiastic- 
ally. “ She was richly dressed. Her hair was like pale 
gold, and her eyes a dark gray. She had a woman-ser- 
vant with her, and they came in a carriage from Credi- 
ton. I am sure they came up directly from London.” 

“ It was Agnace Powys,” the earl said to himself, in 
the depths of his wicked heart. “ I expected it. She’ll 
be a remorseless enemy, now that she’s on my track. I 
have seen in the newspapers that her father has just died 
in Switzerland. Before she has time and opportunity 
to think of me again, I must be in Spain, with Hellene 
as my bride.” 

He was silent a few minutes, scowling darkly. Pres- 
ently he resumed his questionings. 

“Has anyone else been here who seems to take an 
interest in my affairs ? Any man or woman, high or low ?” 

“ No one, my lord,” said the housekeeper. 

“ Why, Katrina,” said the gardener, “ there was that 
tramp last night, who begged to stay all night, and who 
slept over the stable. My lord said ‘ man or woman, rich 
or poor. And the tramp was a woman, and poor 
enough as to looks, and she asked a great many ques- 
tions about my lord.’ ’ 

“ Ah !” said the earl. “ What did she ask ?” 

“Why, about your long and mysterious absence, as 


TWO WOMEN. 


523 


they told her about at a farm near here, where she 
stopped to get a bit of supper — Talcot’sfarm it was, my 
lord, and Talcot is all for Lord Ronald. She asked 
when you went away and when you came back, if you 
were the real earl, and such nonesense. And she asked 
if you had a Spanish look — ” 

“ Ah, she asked that, did she ?” inquired the earl, 
breathing hard. 

“ Yes, my lord. Tom Dark, the under park-keeper, 
was in to spend the evening with us, and he answered 
all her questions prompt,” said the gardener. “ She 
asked if you had not a devilish sort of temper, and if 
you had not been to Australia, or Tasmany, or some such, 
place. Tom Dark, he told her your lordship had been 
to South Ameriky. Then the woman laughed sort o’ 
queer, and asked who was the next heir of the earldom, 
and plenty more such questions. I reckon she was 
touched in the head, but my wife here thought'she had 
never been under an earl ; s roof before, and that might 
have made her ask such strange questions.” 

“ How did she look ?” 

“ She was a short, thick-set woman, with very broad 
shoulders and very long arms,” said the housekeeper. 
“ She had light eyes, and hair growing completely down 
to her eye-brows, with not an inch of forehead between. 
And, oh ! she had a long, red seam down the side of 
her face. She was an ill-looking woman, my lord. I 
shouldn’t like to meet her alone on a lonely road, in a 
dark night.” 

Lord Charlewick’s dark face became livid in its hue. 

He had known a woman answering the housekeeper’s 
striking description during his twenty years absence 
from his home. She had been a lodging-house keeper 
in a far distant country. She had known Dingo there. 
Could it be that they had returned to England on the same 


524 


TWO WOMEN. 


vessel — this woman and Dingo — and that they had been 
married to each other since their arrival ? 

If so, and the earl was certain that this was the truth, 
then he had still a bloodhound on his track. The woman 
meant to avenge her husband’s death. She knew that 
Spanish Bob and the Earl of Charlewick were one 
and the same person. Undoubtedly, her husband had 
returned to her after his meeting with the earl in Pic- 
cadilly, and informed her of his discovery that the earl 
was no other than their old acquaintance, Spanish Bob. 
The woman had not revealed all her knowledge at the 
inquest. She meant to hunt down her husband’s mur- 
derer to the death. 

A cold sweat broke out on the earl’s face. He knew 
now that not only his secret, but his very life was in 
peril. An ignominious death was lurking for him — but 
how should he avoid it ? 

He asked a few more questions, and then desired his 
room to be made ready for him. The German woman 
hastened to do his bidding. The room was soon pre- 
pared, and he went to it in a gloomy silence. 

The room was well lighted with wax candles, but 
shadows lurked in the corners, and the air was chilly. 
The bed had been freshly made with finest linen and 
dainty satin coverlet. The earl undressed and crept 
into bed, ’drawing the satin curtains completely around 
his couch, but he could not shut out his affrighted 
thoughts. 

“The evil that men do does not quickly die,” he mut- 
tered, turning restlessly on his pillow. “ The deeds of 
twenty years ago live still, and their punishment will 
never end. Why was I born with this devilish disposi- 
tion ? Why was I not like my saintly brother?” and he 
sneered. “ No, the recklessness and wickedness that 
has ruled my life have had their own charms and de- 


TWO WOMEN. 


525 


lights, and if I were to live my life over, I’d be more 
cunning, perhaps, more hypocritical, more guarded, 
more sleek, but at heart I would be the same. I never 
could bear a tame, goody-goody sort of existence. But 
I’m in a tight place now, there’s no denying that.” 

He raised his head on his hand, leaning heavily upon 
his elbow, listening intently. What if justice were 
already on his track ! 

“ I would rather have all the police of England and 
France after me,” he said to himself, “than those two 
women. I suppose a compromise with either would be 
impossible. Agnace, so proud, so wronged, will be re- 
morseless. She will demand what I can never give. 
And as to Scarred Kittaline, she is a very devil in her 
revengefulness, and she -has the patience and cunning of 
a North American Indian. Had I known that she was 
the wife of Dingo, and that he had seen her after our 
meeting in Piccadilly, I think I should not have dared 
to kill him.” 

With thoughts like these he passed the whole long 
night, not once closing his eyes in sleep. 

He took breakfast the next morning with the gar- 
dener and his wife, and departed in his own carriage for 
Crediton, going through Little Charlewick. 

He stopped at the village to inquire for any letters 
that might have arrived for him during his absence, and 
remarked that he was to leave for Spain that evening in 
a yacht he had hired. 

Then he went up to London. 

He went to a well-known costumer’s on his arrival in 
town, and procured a long silver-gray beard and wig, a 
walking-stick, and a white powder with which to lighten 
up his complexion. He explained that these were re- 
quired for a masquerade-party out of town, and departed 
with them. 


526 


TWO WOMEN. 


It was easy to find a private place in which to don his 
disguise without remark, and, once disguised, he boldly 
proceeded to the railway-station and took the express 
train to Leeds. 

“ If Scarred Kittaline is looking for me now,” he 
thought, “she’ll not find me, that’s certain. If she don’t 
see me face to face, she won’t be able to identitfy me, 
and I intend that she shall not see and shall not identify 
me. And as to Agnace, she’s in Switzerland, probably, 
and will have to bring her father home and bury him. 
All this takes time, which I shall improve.” 

His journey to Leeds was made in safety. The next 
day he went to Hebden Bridge, arriving there about 
noon. He hired a carriage to convey him to Racket 
Hall, and set out upon the last stage of his journey, 
arriving at the Hall long after the hour Mrs. Diggs had. 
appointed as his coming. 

The old Spanish woman met him at the door, but did 
not recognize him under his disguise. 

“ If it deceives you, nurse, it is pretty complete,” said 
the earl, with a laugh. “ Is Lord Clair here ?” 

“ Then it is you, my lord, after all ? But why are you 
disguised ? Lord Clair is here, and so is Miss Clair. 
They came yesterday toward evening in the worst storm 
I ever beheld,” cried Mrs. Diggs. “ Has anything gone 
wrong, my lord ?” 

“ Nothing,” replied the earl. “To the contrary, all 
has gone well. Come into the room here with me.” 

He passed into a room at his left hand, where many of 
Mr. Nizbit’s effects were stored. Here he removed his 
wig and beard and rubbed the white powder off his face, 
standing before her dark and strange, with glittering 
black eyes and gleaming teeth — his olden self. 

“Ronald is in London. I did not see him,” he said. 
“ He’s hand-in-glove with Hartson, the lawyer, and I 


TWO WOMEN. 


527 


was told that Ronald had commenced the study of law. 
He may be Lord Chancellor of England yet, who 
knows ? I knew that he would soon become alarmed 
about Miss Clair’s safety, provided she was not heard 
from, and that he would try to trace my movements in 
order to find her. Hence my disguise. I have dis- 
missed the cabman, who is gone back to Hebden Bridge. 
Do not let Lord Clair know that I came in disguise.” 

“ No, my lord. You can trust me,” said Mrs. Diggs. 

“Does Miss Clair know that she is a prisoner?” 

“ Yes, my lord. I locked her into her room this 
morning. Lord Clair is anxious to see you. He finds 
the Hall lonely.” 

“ I don’t wonder. In what room is he ?” 

“The dining-room, my lord. It’s the best room in 
the house, sir, and he’s been sitting there more or less 
all day. Miss Clair is in the room you selected for her. 
Peter is here, and devoted to you, my lord.” 

“ I saw John at Little Charlewick,” said the earl. “ He 
feels cut up at having been so taken in by Lord Ronald. 
Ronald sent him back from Paris to London on a 
trumped-up errand to get rid of him. John will be here 
in a day or two with reports of what goes on at home. 
And now for Clair.” 

He crossed the narrow hall and entered the dining- 
room. The corpulent baron, lounging in an easy-chair, 
welcomed him with a genuine delight. He sprang up 
to receive him with outstretched hands. 

“Charlewick at last !” he exclaimed. “I expected to 
find you here waiting for us. We are here safe, you 
see. Hellene’s in her upper room, and actually shows 
signs of yielding. We’re breaking in her proud spirit 
at last. She’ll be your wife three days hence.” 


528 


EDDA'S TROUBLES CULMINATE. 


CHAPTER L. 

edda’s troubles culminate. 

Edda was stunned by the terrible alternative proposed 
to her by Gascoyne Upham. She comprehended fully 
all his meaning. He loved her in his mean, selfish way ; 
he was ambitious to succeed to the great Powys wealth, 
and he meant to stop at nothing until he should seize 
that glittering prize. And Edda thought of Miss Powys 
— not even now to herself could she call her mother — of 
her magnificent blonde beauty, of her stately pride, of 
her queenliness in society, and remembered that Upham 
had threatened to humble that proud spirit to the very 
dust. 

Until now the girl had been very bitter in her heart 
against Miss Powys. Even in her tenderest thoughts of 
her at Storm Castle there had mingled a bitterness 
beyond expression. But now her very soul went forth 
in yearning to the gracious, proud lady, and she felt that 
she could die cheerfully to save Miss Powys one further 
pang of grief. She thought of Dugald, and said to her- 
self that if he proved generous, and desired still to marry 
her when she should have told him all, she must be more 
generous and refuse to marry him. This foul plague- 
spot of disgrace must not infect that noble and honored 
family. If he would not care for himself, she must care 
for him. And since her life must then be empty and 
desolate, why not devote it to the rescue of Miss Powys, 
her own proud, suffering mother? 

But to marry Upham, from whom she recoiled in aver- 


edda’s troubles culminate. 


529 


sion, and now that she had seen the hideousness of his 
moral nature, ah, would not that be martyrdom ? 

Poor Edda, brave as a young lioness ready and willing 
to die for Miss Powys, yet shrank back in horror from 
the thought of a life with Gascoyne Upham. 

“ Oh, I cannot — I cannot !” she cried, shuddering. “ I. 
would rather die than perjure myself by promising to 
love and honor you.” 

“And you would rather Miss Powys would die also, I 
suppose — die of shame ?” said Upham, coolly. 

“Will you not have mercy? Have you neither heart 
nor conscience ?” 

“ Not where you are concerned. You have stolen my 
hear!, Edda, and as to conscience, why should it 
trouble me ? ‘ All is fair in love and in war,’ ” said Up- 

ham, smiling disagreeably. “ All this has come sud- 
denly upon you. Take a little time to think the matter 
over. I will not even urge you for an answer to-day. 
Only let the matter be settled before Miss Powys returns, 
so that I may present you to her as my promised wife.” 

“ I must have time to think,” said Edda. “ I will not 
answer you at present.” 

“ Then you will take my proposal into consideration ? 
Very good. I will not intrude upon you longer to-day, 
Miss Edda, but I will come to you to-morrow and every 
day until Miss Powys returns. Whatever I can do for 
you, I shall be glad to do.” 

“You will be good enough to stay away* till I ask you 
to come,” flashed Edda. “When I want to see you, I’ll 
let you know.” 

Upham smiled again in his disagreeable fashion and 
arose to take his leave. He deemed it best to leave while 
the impression he had made upon Edda was in full force. 
He again proffered his services to the young girl, beg- 
ging her to call upon him should she need advice or 


530 


EDDA S TROUBLES CULMINATE. 


assistance, and then went away, well satisfied with the 
situation of affairs. 

“ She is sure to drop into my arms like a ripe peach,” 
he muttered to himself as he hurried down to his cab. 
“ I’m sure of her — sure of the great Powys wealth. Jove ! 
luck is come to me at last !” 

As a consequence of his visit, the lodging-house keeper 
hastened to consult Edda’s “ reference,” the housekeeper 
of Mr. Powys’ mansion in Cavendish Square. The 
worthy landlady thought Edda too young and beauti- 
ful and richly-dressed to be wandering about the world 
alone and receiving visitors like Upham, and upon con- 
sultation with her acquaintance, the housekeeper, she 
discovered that the latter person was inclined strongly 
to her opinion. 

“ I don’t know anything about Miss Brend, and I can’t 
be responsible for her,” said Miss Powys’ housekeeper, 
importantly. “ She came here from the country, and 
Miss Powys took her to be a companion, and petted her 
extravagantly on account of her beauty ; but in my own 
mind 1 am certain that Miss Powys sent the girl away 
because Miss Brend was too fond of Mr. Upham’s ad- 
miration. And already Miss Brend has got Mr. Upham 
to visiting her — the very day of her return to town, too. 
It’s absolutely scandalous !” 

“ She’s paid me for a week,” said the lodging-house 
keeper, with a severe countenance, “ but all the gold in 
London won«’t hire me to keep her longer. My house 
depends on its reputation for respectability, and I want 
no young ladies in it who receive young gentleman 
callers. Miss Brend must go when her week is up !” 

The lodging-house keeper returned home strong in 
this resolve. 

The next day Edda spent several hours in Hyde Park, 
returning home about six o’clock in the afternoon. She 


EDDA'S TROUBLES CULMINATE. 


531 


had scarcely entered her sitting-room, when the house- 
maid appeared with a request that Edda would exchange 
a sovereign for her mistress, as the baker’s boy was wait- 
ing below. 

“ Certainly,” replied Edda. “ Fortunately, I can change 
it any way you may want. I have more silver than I 
like to carry.” 

She made the required change, the housemaid went 
out, and Edda entered her bedroom to freshen her toilet 
before her dinner. 

She was in the midst of this occupation when Gas- 
coyne Upham arrived to call upon her. The housemaid 
gave him admittance at the house-door, notwithstand- 
ing that she had received an order from her mistress not 
to admit him on his next visit. A half-crown slipped 
into her hands by Upham caused a very convenient for- 
getfulness on her part, and he was permitted to slip up- 
stairs to Edda’s sitting-room. 

Edda did not hear his knock, and he went in. 

The room looked very dingy and dreary to him, used 
as he was to luxury. It utterly lacked homelikeness and 
coziness, and Upham stood near the door and looked 
upon his surroundings with a positive disgust. 

“ It must be hard for her to remain here,” he thought. 
“ The halls retain the odors of all the fish and onions 
and meats cooked in this house in a year. Faugh ! 
Wretched, little stuffy place ! I wonder what Agnace 
would say to it ? I wonder what mood my proud little 
beauty will be in to-day ? I’m afraid if I don’t exact a 
promise from her before Agnace returns, my cousin will 
brave all disgrace and own her daughter. She has the 
spirit to do it once she is roused, now that her father is 
dead. But how to make the girl dependent upon me 
and cling to me in Agnace’s absence ?” 

The gleam of a silver portmonnaie on the table caught 


532 


edda’s troubles culminate. 


his glance. After giving the housemaid her small 
moneys, Edda had carelessly laid her pocket-book upon 
the table, and gone into the inner room. 

Upham saw that it was well filled. The evil spirits, 
which are said to wait upon us all, watching for moments 
of weakness in which to tempt us to deeds of evil, 
tempted Upham then. If Edda found herself suddenly 
penniless, he thought, and friendless, with Miss Powys 
far away from her, she must turn to him as her only 
friend. Upon the instant he glided to the table, seized 
the portmonnaie, thtust it into his pocket, and retreated 
to a chair near the door. 

All is fair in love and in war,’ ” he said to himself, 
repeating his favorite motto in excuse for his meanness. 
“ I’ll give it back to her with interest some day. We’ll 
laugh at this robbery then together.” 

Yet, viewing his act with such lenity, it was strange 
that his face flushed and his eyes fell uneasily when 
Edda came out of the adjoining room, dressed neatly for 
her simple and solitary dinner. She started at sight of 
him. 

“You here again ?” was her unflattering greeting. 

“ Yes,” he answered. “I had a telegram from Miss 
Powys, and I thought you might like to see it.” 

“ I should indeed,” said Edda, more graciously. “ If 
you had sent it by a servant I should have been better 
pleased. My landlady has been very cool to me since 
you were here yesterday, and you must not come again 
on any pretext whatever.” 

“ Here is the telegram. You can see for yourself what 
my cousin says. She starts for England to-day.” ’ 

Edda read the telegram and returned it. 

“ I shall be very glad when she comes,” she said. “ I 
am very lonely here.” 


edda’s troubles culminate. 


533 


“ Have you given my proposition consideration yet, 
Edda ?” inquired Upham. 

“ I have come to no decision. I will not give you an 
answer at present,” said Edda, wearily. “ I must have 
time.” 

Upham’s call was brief. In going down the stairs he 
met the lodging-house keeper, who seized upon the 
occasion to give him a severe lecture, and to forbid him 
to enter the house again. 

“ I shall come jusl: as often as I choose,” said Upham, 
with a quiet defiance that stung the woman like a blow. 
“ Miss Brend has taken her rooms for a week, and she 
has a right to receive whom she pleases in them. I shall 
come every day, and you cannot help yourself.” 

“ I cannot, eh ?” cried the landlady, in a rage. “ Miss 
Brend leaves my house when her week is up, you’ll find, 
and you can tell her so.” 

Upham bowed and smiled and passed on. 

The landlady paid another visit to the housekeeper in 
Cavendish Square that evening, and detailed in vehe- 
ment terms the fancied shortcomings of her lodger. The 
housekeeper’s horror was loudly expressed. 

“I never did think much of Miss Brend,” she remarked. 
“ She’s a saucy face of her own, and a saucy tongue, too, 
I’ll be bound. One thing is certain, she won’t see Miss 
Powys when she comes. My mistress shall not be again 
imposed upon by such an artful little piece. I shall do 
my duty to Miss Powys, in any case.” 

The days of waiting passed slowly to Edda. She dis- 
covered the loss of her portmonnaie speedily, and 
searched everywhere for it without avail. She remem- 
bered when she had last had it, and questioned the 
housemaid closely, but the innocence of the domestic 
was apparent. 

“ It must be that Mr. Upham took it, though I can 


534 


Et)DA*S TROUBLES CULMINATE. 


hardly believe it,” was Edda’s final decision. “ He 
wants to drive me into his arms. He’ll find he can’t 
drive me. It’s fortunate Miss Powys is coming so soon. 
I shall have no need of money, and my loss cannot em- 
barrass me.” 

Mr. Upham called regularly day after day, and as 
regularly managed to find his way to Edda’s room at 
her dinner-hour, and consequently at a time when she 
could not lock her door against him. She did not accuse 
him of abstracting her money, and indeed said little to 
him. He brought her telegrams from Miss Powys to 
himself, flowers and fruits from Covent Garden for her- 
self, and new books and court newspapers. The lodg- 
ing-house keeper said that “ it was a scandal,” but when 
Edda asked her to be present during Upham’s visits her 
virtuous scorn was beautiful to witness. 

At the end of a week of this sort of life, Edda went to 
Cavendish Square to make inquiries for Miss Powys. 
She hoped and even expected to find Miss Powys her- 
self at home. The housekeeper came to the door, in the 
absence of the hall-footman, and frowned majestically as 
she recognized the young visitor. 

“ Has Miss Powys returned yet ?” asked Edda. 

The housekeeper closed the doorway with her person, 
so that the girl should not enter. 

“Yes, miss,” she said, acidly. “She returned the 
night before last, and yesterday Mr. Powys’ funeral 
took place at his country seat. Miss Powys was here 
this morning. She has left England again, and will be 
gone a year.” 

The latter clause of the sentence was intended to crush 
any designs Edda might have formed of waiting for Miss 
Powys’ return. 

“ Is she gone to Scotland ?” asked the girl. 

Miss Powys had set out for Scotland that very morn- 


edda’s troubles culminate. 


535 


ing, to seek her homeless child, of whose whereabouts 
she was in total ignorance, but whom she believed to be 
at Storm Castle. The housekeeper knew her mistress’ 
destination, but not her errand ; yet, in her zeal for the 
benefit of Miss Powys, she made answer: 

“ No, she is gone to Germany, and she didn’t leave her 
address. She’s not well, and is gone for her health.” 

“ Did she know that I have been here to see her? that 
I am waiting here in London for her return ?” asked the 
girl, eagerly. 

“Yes, miss,” said the housekeeper, comforting her 
conscience with the reflection that her falsehoods were 
“well meant,” and that it was her duty to protect her 
sorrowing mistress from all intrusive and designing per- 
sons. “ But she said she could do nothing for you ; she 
had lost confidence in you through your goings on with 
Mr. Upham, and you must earn your own living ngw, for 
that she washed her hands of you.” 

The housekeeper was startled at the quick flash of 
Edda’s black eyes. 

“ Did she say that?” demanded the girl. 

“ Yes, miss. Them’s her own words.” 

Edda turned abruptly and began to descend the steps. 
Half-way down she stopped and asked : 

“ Has any young gentleman been here to see me dur- 
ing the week ? Have any letters come for me ?” 

“ None whatever — no letters, no nothing.” 

Edda hurried away, her heart full of a wild, fierce 
anger. 

“ No mother — no lover !” she said. “I’ve lost every- 
thing What is to become of me ?” 

She hastened back to her lodgings. 

She was scarcely again in her own sitting-room when 
her landlady entered her presence, grim and hard of 
aspect. 


536 


APPROACHING THE END. 


“ Your week is up this morning, miss,” she said. “ I 
can’t keep you another week, not if you was to pay me 
a fortune. There’ll be a cab at my door for you in one 
hour’s time. If you’re notf ready to go then peaceable, 
you’ll be put out by force of arms I” 


CHAPTER LI. 

APPROACHING THE END. 

Punctually at the period she had indicated to Edda, 
the lodging-house keeper had a cab in waiting at the 
door. She then came up to Edda’s room to hasten the 
girl’s departure. She found Edda’s trunks packed and 
strapped, and the young girl, flushed with exertion, in 
the act of putting on her hat. 

“ The cabman is waiting,” the landlady announced^ 
grimly. “Are your trunks all ready ?” 

Edda turned, her passionate eyes glowing in the midst 
of her pale face with a strange fire. 

“You know that I have lost all my money,” she said ; 
“ you know that I have nowhere to go, and yet you turn 
me out into the streets, not caring what becomes of me. 
Will you not give me shelter for one night longer ?” 

“Not a night — not an hour !” said the landlady, in a 
hard, cold voice, and with a hard face. “ It’s not noon 
yet. You’ve got the whole day before you.” 

“ But where am I to go ?” demanded Edda, pale and 
desperate. 

“ How should I know ? Go to your friend, Mr. Up- 
ham. Go back where you came from. That’s my ad- 
vice.” 


APPROACHING- THE END. 


537 


“ But I have no money.” 

“No money, and that gold brooch you’ve got on worth 
five guineas if it’s worth a penny ! You're not so desti- 
tute as you pretend,” sneered the landlady. “ As to 
losing your money, I never did believe a word of that — 
never ! I know too much of the world to be taken in so 
easily.” 

Edda hesitated, then she unclasped her brooch with 
trembling hands and laid it on the table. 

“ Will you let me stay one day longer for that ?” she 
asked. 

“ No, not an hour.” 

“ Will you give me two sovereigns for it ?” 

The lodging-house keeper reflected. The girl’s story 
might be true ; she might have lost her money, and in 
any case the brooch would be a bargain at the sum 
mentioned. She bought it with a greediness that showed 
how willing she was to take advantage of the necessities 
and misfortunes of others. 

Edda dropped the two shining coins into her pocket. 

“ Now, young lady,” said the woman, pinning the 
brooch upon her own dress, “just take my advice. Mr. 
Upham means you only harm. You’ve no friends in 
London. You are poor, and your good looks will be a 
snare to you. London is a hard place for one like you. 
It is overrun with young women trying to get work, and 
many of them skilled in trades, yet dying of starvation. 
Get out of London, unless you are worse even than I 
think you are. Go back to the place you came from. 
Better die there than live here.” 

“ If all London people are as hard and pitiless as you, 

I agree with you,” said Edda, sternly. 

She took up her traveling-bag and shawl-straps and 
left her room, descending to the waiting cab. The cook 
and housemaid brought down Edda’s trunks, and the 


538 


APPROACHING THE END. 


cabman placed them on his box. Edda entered the 
vehicle. 

“ Where to, miss ?” asked the cabman, as he closed the 
door. 

“To some good lodging-house,” replied Edda, wear- 

i!y- 

“ I don’t know of none suitable for you, miss,” said 
the cabman. 

“ To some quiet hotel, then.” 

The cabman shook his head. 

“ Respectable hotels don’t like ladies that travel with- 
out gentlemen,” he suggested. “I don’t think they’ll 
like to take you in.” 

Edda turned sick at heart. Why, there was nowhere 
for her to go. Friendless, helpless, why should she try 
to struggle on in a world so bitter against her? She 
wanted to be alone, out of the sight of prying eyes, out 
of the sound of venomous tongues. Why not take her 
landlady’s advice and go back to the place whence she 
had come? The winds of her native moors would be 
music to her. The loneliness and desolation of that 
level, heather-spread moor on which her life had been 
spent would be very sweet to her now. Racket Hall 
would be of course unoccupied, and Mr. Nizbit’s furni- 
ture remained there still. All her bright young cour- 
age was beaten down like a tree in the storm. Why not 
go back to Racket Hall and wait there until her courage 
should revive, and she could decide upon her future 
course ? 

In her friendlessness, homelessness and desolateness, 
the thought seemed an inspiration. 

“ To the Great Northern railway terminus,” she said, 
sinking back on her seat. 

The cabman mounted his box and drove to the 
required destination. 


APPROACHING THE END. 


539 


The day express was gone, and there were hours to 
wait before the evening express should start. Edda 
paid her cabman, placed her baggage in a department 
where it would be kept for her as long as she might 
choose to leave it, and at a very trifling charge, per day, 
and spent her hours of waiting in the ladies’ waiting- 
room, her vail drawn over her face. 

She journeyed northward by the evening express. 

At about the very time she was steaming out of 
London on her return to Racket Hall, Mr. Gascoyne 
Upham, dressed in deep mourning, called at her lodg- 
ings in the Edgeware Road. In consequence of his 
attendance at the funeral of Mr. Powys, he had not 
called upon Edda upon the preceding day, and he enter- 
tained lively hopes that she would have missed him dur- 
ing his absence, and would accord him a pleasanter 
reception than usual. 

It was the landlady herself who opened the door to 
him. 

He essayed to pass her, but she placed herself in his 
way. 

“Miss Brend is gone, Mr. Upham,” she said, aggres- 
sively. “She went this morning.” 

“ She is gone ? Where ?” 

“To the place she came from, I suppose. She went to 
the Great Northern terminus,” said the woman,. “ though 
I don’t know as I ought to tell you.” 

Mr. Upham did not delay to question her. He glanced 
at his watch and sprang into the hansom, giving the 
order to proceed to the station mentioned, 

He arrived too late. Edda was gone. 

“ I am cheated,” he said to himself, sulkily, as he re- 
turned to Cayendish Square, thoroughly chagrined. 
“ She had money to get away with. She has gone to 
Racket Hall. Nizbit gave me the exact address of his 


54:0 APPROACHING- THE END. 

late residence, and I’ll follow her by the morning train. 
Strange that Agnace should take such a fever to go off 
to Scotland the very day after her father’s funeral. She 
ought to be worn out by travel and grief. No ordinary 
thing could take her off on such a journey, at such a 
time. It must be that Edda was sent to Storm Castle, 
that she was rendered homeless by Mrs. Vavasour’s 
death, and that Agnace believes her to be still at the 
castle. That is it. Agnace is gone for her daughter. 
I must find the girl and force her to consent to marry 
me before Agnace discovers her.” 

To think was to do. The very next morning he also 
set out for Yorkshire and Racket Hall. 

It seemed as if the tide of travel were turning in the 
direction of the old French house on the moors. 

Miss Powys had set out for Scotland, as stated, upon 
the very morning following the funeral of her father at 
their country place in Sussex. The customs of society 
might require her to spend the first few weeks following 
her bereavement in seclusion and deepest mourning, but 
there was a higher law impelling her to go to the com- 
fort and assistance of her daughter. She knew that old 
Mrs. Vavasour was dead, and that Edda was conse- 
quently homeless. She was alarmed at not having 
received a letter from her. The housekeeper in Caven- 
dish Square had seen her mistress, and had stated that 
Edda had not been seen in London. Anxious, perplexed, 
and greatly troubled, Miss Powys had resolved to trust 
her errand to no one, but to go herself for her daughter. 

When Edda had first come up to London and to her, 
she had received her but coldly, but now she knew that 
she loved her child with a passionate yearning, a terrible 
remorsefulness, a deep and tender longing that filled her 
entire being. 

“ I shall never let her go from me again — never ! 


APPROACHING- THE END. 


541 


never ! she had said to herself, as she traveled north- 
ward, her faithful waiting-woman her only attendant. 
a I adopt her legally, and call her Edda Powys. Or, 
better still — and I must and will do it,” and she set her 
proud lips together in an inflexible resolve — “ I will pro- 
claim my marriage, own my daughter publicly, and 
demand for her and me absolute justice. Edda told me 
once that she had been robbed of her birthright. She 
shall have it now at last — name and home, and love — 
everything ! Oh, my poor, wronged little daughter ! 
Wronged by her father ; wronged by her proud and 
heartless mother ; wronged by all the world — you are 
to have your birthright at last.” 

Miss Powys stopped at York and went to a hotel, in- 
tending to telegraph to Storm Castle and make sure that 
Edda was still there, before continuing her long journey 
to the Highlands. 

She demanded a private parlor with two bedrooms 
adjoining, and was in full possession of the former and 
in the very act of writing her intended telegram, when a 
waiter entered her presence, bearing two cards upon a 
salver. 

“Two gentlemen who arrived from Scotland an hour 
since, and are to stay over night,” he explained. “ They 
saw Miss Powys’ name on the register, and desire an in- 
terview immediately on a matter of the utmost import- 
ance.” 

Miss Powys took up the cards and read the addresses 
upon them. They were : “ Rev. J. Macdougal, Brae 
Town, Ross, Scotland ;” “ Dugald Vavasour, Esq., Storm 
Castle, Ben Storm, Ross, Scotland.” 

Miss Powys ordered the gentlemen to be shown up to 
her sitting-room at once. 

A few minutes later they appeared. Miss Powys arose 


542 


APPROACHING THE END. 


to receive them, eager and expectant, half expecting to* 
see Edda with them. 

She had known Mr. Macdougal very well during her 
visits to Storm Castle, and greeted him with recognition. 
She had also known Dugald Vavasour, who had been a 
favorite of hers. 

“ I am very glad to see you, gentlemen,” she remarked, 
having invited them to be seated. “ I am on my way to 
Storm Castle. I understood from the servant that you 
are on your way to London.” 

“Yes, madam,” said Dugald Vavasour. “We have 
traveled day and night since leaving Storm Castle, and 
were obliged to stop at York to-night, Mr. Macdougal 
being thoroughly fatigued. We saw your name upon 
the hotel-register, and have hastened to call upon you. 
We have seen in the newspapers that you have just suf- 
fered a severe bereavement in the loss of your father. 
We offer you our sympathy in your sorrow.” 

“ Thank you,” said Miss Powys, simply. “ I have in- 
deed suffered a severe bereavement. And I have many 
sorrows and anxieties to bear,” she added, sighing. “ Is 
Miss Brend in your charge, Mr. Macdougal, or is she 
still at Storm Castle?” 

“Is she not with you, Miss Powys?” asked Vavasour, 
startled. 

“ Is she not at your town house, madam?” inquired 
Mr. Macdougal, in surprise. 

“ I have not seen her since she went to Storm Castle,” 
cried Miss Powys, in a great agitation. “ Where is 
she ?” 

Dugald Vavasour’s face grew suddenly pale. “ Miss 
Brend left the castle some ten days ago,” he exclaimed, 

“ with the avowed intention of going to London. She 
did go to London under the charge of Mr. McKay, the 
lawyer, of Kirkfaldy. She parted from him at the raib 


APPROACHING THE END. 


543 


way terminus, not giving him her address. But she left, 
with one of the castle servants, her sealed address in 
charge, to be delivered to me on my return to the castle. 
That address was, ‘Care of Miss Powys, Cavendish 
Square, London.’ I was detained a day or so at the 
castle with the lawyer, but have made all haste to 
follow Miss Brend to London. I believed her safe with 
you — oh ! where can she be ? My poor little Edda !” 

“What is she to you ?” demanded Miss Powys. 

“ She is my promised wife, nradam. I have loved her 
since we first met 'on the Yorkshire moors a year ago.” 

The announcement was like a blow to Miss Powys. 

She was silent for some moments, her face averted. 
Then she said : 

“Are you Mrs. Vavasour’s heir, Mr. Vavasour ?” 

Dugald replied by telling her the story of the anger 
of his ancestress against himself, of his disinheritance, of 
her will in Edda’s favor, of Edda’s destruction of the 
will and departure from Storm Castle. Miss Powys 
listened with a vivid interest. 

“ I see,” she said. “ Edda does not think herself a fit- 
ting match for you now, Mr. Vavasour, since your suc- 
cession to your family honors and wealth. She has 
meant to make her sacrifice complete. When she gave 
up your castle, she gave you up also.” 

“ But I will never release her !” cried Vavasour, im- 
petuously. “I know that she loves me, Miss Powys, 
and I will never give her up— hot for any reason what- 
ever. There is no obstacle that can stand between us.” 

Miss Powys fancied a hidden meaning in his words, 

“ There is no doubt but that Edda went to Cavendish 
Square,” she said, “ although the housekeeper said she 
had not been there. Possibly Edda saw the footman, 
whom I did not question. Finding that I was away 
upon the Continent, where would she go ? She would 


544 


APPROACHING THE END. 


not follow me. She was a stranger in London. I believe 
— I am sure — that she would have gone back to her old 
home and resolved to remain there until my return. 
Racket Hall has no occupant, Edda told me. Yes, she’s 
gone there !” 

Miss Powys’ happy thought became to her an instant 
conviction. 

“ We cannot go on to-night,” she said, “ but we will 
go to Racket Hall to-morrow. If she is not there, we 
must look for her in London.” 

In accordance with this resolve, the next morning 
Miss Powys and her serving-woman, with Mr. Mac- 
dougal and Dugald Vavasour, set out for the West Rid- 
ing of Yorkshire and the old house on the moor. 

Edda had traveled all the night, and was hours in 
advance of them. 

She had arrived at Hebden Bridge station in the early 
morning. The carrier’s cart was about to leave for the 
hamlet of Moor End, and Edda secured her passage in 
it. She alighted at the Moor Hen, the village inn, but 
not caring to encounter the landlord or landlady, whom 
she knew well, she drew her vail closer over her face, 
and walked on down the straggling, grass-grown street, 
and out upon the great lonely moor, moving in the 
direction of Racket Hall. 

It had not been four months since she had left the moor 
house for London, but those months seemed to her now 
like years as she looked back upon them. She had left 
Racket Hall on foot and shabbily dressed, in search of 
her fortune. She had found her mother, her lover, and 
made new friends ; she had known wealth and luxury, 
love and care and . tenderness, and here she was return- 
ing on foot, her fortune found and lost, and herself 
homeless. 

“ I’ll find shelter at the Hall for a few days,” she 


APPROACHING THE END. 


545 


thought, not despairing even now, not ready “ to lie 
down and die, although her outlook on life seemed so 
dark and cheerless, ‘‘and then I’ll find something to do. 
I 11 ask the landlord o.f the Moor Hen to take me in as 
housemaid, if worst comes,” she added. “Better work 
than starve.” 

The sun was hot, and her five miles of lonely walk 
over the furzy moor grew very wearisome long before 
the steep French roof of Racket Hall dawned on her 
sight. She trudged onward bravely, and at last she 
turned into the tree-grown yard of Racket Hall and sat 
down in a sheltered nook to rest. 

The house did not seem inhabited. She had no sus- 
picion that the lonely old Hall was likely to be tenanted. 
It seemed to her the last place in the world for a happy 
household to seek shelter. 

She remained an hour or more under the trees in the 
neglected old garden, and then she emerged from the 
friendly shadows and mounted the porch. 

“I’ll just try the door,” she thought. “I suppose I 
shall have to break in at a window.” 

To her surprise, the door yielded to her touch. She 
entered the dingy little hall. Instinctively she turned 
to the right, to the ancient sitting-room of the Nizbits. 
This door was unlocked, and she passed into the room. 

Here were stored the worn-out articles of furniture 
which Mr. Nizbit had been obliged to leave behind him 
on his departure from the Hall. The room remained 
precisely as it had been in the days of the Nizbit occu- 
pation. The same l^adly-worn carpet on the floor ; the 
same shabby black hair-cloth-covered furniture ; the 
same hideous silhouette pictures in rustic frames on the 
walls. The blinds were down, and a dim half-light 
pervaded the room. 

Edda threw herself wearily on the tattered sofa. 


WRONGS ALL RIGHTED. 


5'46 

“I should like to end my life here where I began it,” 
she thought. “ I suppose I shall live, though, to be an 
old woman — perhaps as old as Mrs. Vavasour. Ah, how 
tired I am ! My night’s journey and morning’s walk in 
the sun have exhausted me.” 

She pillowed her head upon an arm of the sofa and 
dropped asleep. She slept for several hours profoundly, 
but was aroused- at last by a strange noise — that of 
voices in altercation. She started up in alarm. The 
noise came from the room across the hall opposite the 
one she was in. 

“The house must be inhabited by new tenants,” was 
her first thought. “ No, impossible ; since Mr. Nizbit’s 
furniture has not been moved in these rooms. Some 
tramps have taken possession — a party of hunters have 
taken their lodgings here — or some thief is in hiding. 
I must know.” 

She moved toward the door. 


CHAPTER LII. 

WRONGS ALL RIGHTED. 

The room opposite that in which Edda had taken 
refuge was the one appropriated by Lord Charlewick as 
the dining-room of his temporary establishment. It was 
also the favorite sitting-room of th*e earl and the baron, 
and both were lounging there upon this afternoon. 

About half-an-hour before Edda’s sudden awakening, 
the two lords had been playing a game of cards to- 
gether, when the earl arose abruptly in the middle of 


WRONGS ALL RIGHTED. 


547 


the game and dashed down the cards upon the table, 
ejaculating : 

“ It’s no use. I can’t get up any interest in it. I’ve a 
hundred anxieties that sting me like so many nettles. I 
must get out of England. Clair, if Hellene is going to 
marry me, she’ll have to be forced into it. She’s no 
nearer consenting now than she was yesterday, or when 
she fled from that old Norman tower.” 

“ She’ll begin to yield as soon as she realizes her help- 
lessness,” said the fat baron. “French girls — ” 

“Bother French girls!” interrupted the earl, impa- 
tiently. “We are dealing with an English girl, and a 
very obstinate one at that. The question is how are we 
to force her to submit to your authority.” 

“ Time and patience — ” 

“ I haven’t the time to spare. I want to go to Spain.” 

“You are frightfully nervous, Charlewick. You’ve 
done nothing but start at every sound since you came 
here. Hellene has not seen you since you came. Sup- 
pose I bring her down, and you can argue and plead, 
and all that sort of thing, and I’ll use my authority, and 
we’ll see if we make any impression upon her. We’ll 
keep it up every day until she yields from sheer ex- 
haustion.” 

“Very well. Bring her.” 

The baron went out. The earl walked the floor like a 
caged tiger. 

Lord Clair presently returned accompanied by Mrs. 
Diggs. They conducted Hellene between them. Mrs. 
Diggs was dismissed, and Lord Charlewick presented a 
chair to Hellene. She refused it, with a look of disdain 
at the earl, and retreated from him. 

“ Hellene,” said the earl, fixing his black, glittering 
eyes upon her in a gaze half angry, half admiring, “your 
father has kindly consented to bring about this inter- 


548 


WRONGS ALL RIGHTED. 


view between us. You know that you are in my house, 
that there is no one to rescue you this time, and that 
your father is determined to use his authority over you 
to make you marry me. All this is true. You are abso- 
lutely helpless. Yet I will change all your privations 
and annoyances to joys if you will but give me authority. 
I love you. I desire to marry you this very day if you 
will. Immediately after our marriage we will go abroad, 
and you shall have your own sweet will about every- 
thing. You have infatuated me, Hellene, and I promise 
to make you a good husband.” 

“You might as well talk to the moon,” said Hellene, 
scornfully. “ I wouldn’t marry you to save myself from 
a life-long imprisonment !” 

The earl’s dark face grew darker still. 

“ Perhaps you expect to be rescued a second time,” 
he said. 

“ Perhaps I do,” said Hellene, composedly. 

“You mistake. Ronald is in London, and he believes 
you to be traveling with your father.” 

“ I believe that Ronald has grown uneasy, and is even 
now searching for me,” said Hellene, calmly. “ If he is 
not anxious now, he soon will be. Sooner or later he 
will find me.” 

“ He will find you my wife, then. Come, Hellene. 
Why do you prefer the poor nephew to the rich and 
titled uncle ?” said the earl. “ I love you as much or 
more than he can do.” 

Hellene’s lip curled, but she did not speak. 

“ By Jupiter !” said the baron. “ I’ve a good mind to 
get a special license this very day, and force you to 
marry the earl, Hellene. I know how to bring you to 
submission. I’ll starve you into it, or I’ll drug your 
food, so that you will be a mere passive doll in our 


WRONGS ALL RIGHTED. 


549 


hands. I swear 1 will do it ! Curse your infernal ob- 
stinacy ! I could kill you !” 

He started up and approached his daughter with a 
menacing look, as if he meant to lay violent hands on 
her. Hellene recoiled before him with a cry of alarm. 

It was at that critical juncture that Edda Brend 
opened the door and entered their presence. 

It would be hard to tell which was the more aston- 
ished at the singular meeting in the lonely moor dwel- 
ling. 

“You here, Miss Clair?” cried Edda, amazed. “Is it 
really you ?” 

“ Miss Brend !” exclaimed Hellene, her face wild and 
eager. “ It is Miss Brend !” 

“Brend!” repeated Lord Charlewick. “She said 
Miss Brend !” 

His surprise at Edda’s unexpected appearance was 
. lost in the greater surprise her name occasioned him. 
He regarded her with a piercing gaze. 

“ Are you alone, Miss Brend ?” asked Hellene, looking 
beyond Edda. “ Is no one with you ?” 

“ No one. I came alone. What are you doing here ? 
Who are these men ?” 

Edda surveyed the baron and the earl closely. 

“The one is my father, the other Lord Charlewick. 
My father brought me here against my will and is trying 
to force me to marry the earl,” said Hellene; “but I’ll 
die first. How came you here ?” 

“ I was born here,” replied Edda, “ and I always lived 
here till last May. I supposed the house was unoccu- 
pied, and came here to spend a few days. I have no 
home now. And so this is Lord Ronald’s wicked 
uncle ?” 

She looked at the earl keenly, black eyes meeting 
black eyes in a gaze that was both wondering and de- 


550 


WRONGS ALL RIGHTED. 


fiant. It seemed as if the girl’s appearance fascinated 
Charlewick, and the swart and sinister visage of the 
earl strangely impressed Edda. 

“What are we to do with the young tramp?” de- 
manded Lord Clair. “ We cannot let her go to tell 
what she has heard. She’ll get us into trouble.” 

There were subdued steps in the garden without, a 
faint rustling in the corridor, and then the door was 
pushed slightly ajar. 

The inmates of the room neither saw nor heard these 
indications of strange approach. 

“Girl!” said Lord Charlewick, hoarsely, “who are 
you ?” 

“ My name is Edda Brend — ” 

“ Brend !” again repeated the earl. “ How came you 
by that name ? I ask again — who are you ?” 

The door swung open and Miss Powys glided into 
the room. 

“Let me answer that question, Henry Brend, Lord 
Odo Charlton, Earl of Charlewick,” she said. “Edda 
Brend is your own daughter and mine. Her rightful 
name is Lady Edda Charlton.” 

The earl staggered back. The baron uttered a fierce 
oath. 

“ Edda,” said Miss Powys, “ my wronged daughter, 
come to me. You are mine now in face of all the world, 

as I am the lawful wife of Lord Charlewick.” 

* 

She held out her arms. Edda sprang into them with 
a low, wild cry of joy. 

“ I thought you had deserted me,” the girl sobbed — 
“you and everybody.” 

“ I have not, nor has everybody. Henceforth, my 
darling, your life shall be as bright as it has hitherto 
been clouded. Look | who is this ?” 

There was a stir at the door, and Dugald Vavasour, 


WRONGS ALL RIGHTED. 


551 


Mr. Macdougal and Lord Ronald Charlton made their 
appearance. 

Hellene flew to her lover’s arms. Dugald claimed 
Edda from her mother’s embrace. Lord Charlewick 
folded his arms and said, mockingly, with a sardonic 
smile : 

“Quite a surprise ! They have really sprung amine 
on us, Clair. I really don’t see what we are to do. It’s 
fortunate that my happiness is not dependent upon any 
woman. I resign my pretensions to the hand of Miss 
Clair and set out for Spain this very night.” 

Miss Powys drew Edda nearer to the earl. 

“ Henry,” she said, “ I came here to find my child, not 
dreaming until we reached Hebden Bridge that you 
were here also. But at the bridge we met Lord Ronald 
Charlton, who had come up here on the same train with 
us. He told us that you were here, and that Lord Clair 
and his daughter were here also. John Diggs betrayed 
your whereabouts to Hartson, the lawyer — and to others 
also — for a good sum of money. You married me 
twenty years ago under a feigned name, but our mar- 
riage is valid, and I am lawfully your wife. This girl 
Edda is our daughter — yours and mine. I never dared 
own my marriage nor my daughter till now. I have 
proofs of our marriage, yet I ask yrou to own us now 
publicly as your wife and child.” 

The lady’s proud face wore a look of pleading. 

“ I’ll be hanged if I do !” said the earl, with an oath. 

Miss Powys drew Edda back again. 

“ Lord Charlewick,” said Ronald, stepping forward, 
“ you are my uncle, and your disgrace would be a family 
one. I came here to warn you that John Diggs has 
betrayed you, and that the officers of justice are upon 
your track for the murder of a man named Dingo. I 
expect them here every moment, You have barely time 


552 


WRONGS' ALL RIGHTED. 


to make your escape. But before you go I beseech you 
to acknowledge your wife and daughter. Lady Charle- 
wick has told me your whole history and hers. She can 
prove her marriage to Henry Brend, and your identity 
with that individual can also be proved. I advise you 
to make a virtue of necessity and to own the truth.” 

Before the earl could reply, there were sounds of a 
fresh arrival. He looked about him as for some avenue 
of escape. Too late ! Two officers of the law, followed 
by a woman with a scarred cheek, came filing into the 
room. 

“ That is he !” exclaimed the woman, pointing to the 
earl. “ That is Spanish Bob. I knew him well in 
Tasmania.” 

“ Otlo, Earl of Charlewick,” said one of the police 
officers, “ I arrest yon, in the name of the law, for the 
murder of James Dingo on the night — ” 

He unfolded his warrant to read it. 

The earl thrust his hand into his bosom. 

“ One moment,” he said. “ I have a few words to say 
to you all. This lady,” and he indicated Miss Powys, 
“is my lawful wife — Agnace, Countess of Charlewick. 
The girl I own, on the statement of my wife and my own 
convictions, to be my own lawful child. Lord Ronald,” 
and he smiled mockingly, “ my girl’s portion will deplete 
your income somewhat. Lord Clair, I am sorry not to 
be able to enrich you by a marriage with your daugh- 
ter ; but having a family of my own, you see, the thing’s 
impossible. Miss Hellene, your pretty face has cost me 
my life — but what’s the odds ? We must all die some 
time. As well now as later.” 

He made a low and mocking bow. The police officer 
advanced towards him. There was a sudden gleam of 
steel, the earl’s stiletto flashing in a stray beam of sun- 


WRONGS ALL RIGHTED. 


553 


light, and Odo, Earl of Charlewick, fell forward on his 
face — dead ! 

When he was buried, the secret of his evil life was 
buried with him. 

Lord Ronald Charlton did not rest until Miss Powys’ 
claim to the title of Countess of Charlewick was fully 
established beyond the shadow of a doubt. The lovely 
blonde countess would not accept for herself or her 
daughter one penny of the Charlewick wealth, despite 
Lord Ronald’s determination that the fullest justice 
should be rendered her at last. 

A year later a grand double marriage took place at 
St. George’s, Hanover Square. Hellene Clair, fair and 
sweet as a scented lily, was married to Ronald, Earl of 
Charlewick, Lord Clair giving away the bride.. And 
Lady Edda Charlton, dark, piquant-looking, and radiant 
as a star-lit night, was married to Mr. Dugald Vavasour, 
of Storm Castle, Mr. Macdougal having the honor to 
give away the bride. 

There were many guests at the happy double wed- 
ding. Mr. McKay, of Kirkfaldy, Lord and Lady Canby 
and Mrs. Bliss, Mr. Hartson, and all the friends of the 
young couple, both high and humble. But Mr. Gascoyne 
Upham was not present. He had long since been dis- 
missed from the bank, and had departed no one knew 
whither. After the wedding-breakfast, Lord and Lady 
Charlewick departed for Charlewick-le-Grand, where 
their rejoicing tenantry waited to give them a grand 
reception ; and Mr. Vavasour and Lady Edda Vavasour, 
accompanied by the dowager Lady Charlewick, for- 
merly known as Miss Powys, and by Edda’s Scottish 
friends, set out by special train for the Highlands and 
Storm Castle. They were to remain a fortnight among 
their clannish retainers, and then to make a tour ©f the 


554 


WRONGS ALL RIGHTED. 


Continent, spending the winter in Italy. With loving 
friends around her, a name and position in the world, 
guarded as their idol by mother and husband, Edda had 
gained her birthright at last ! 


\ 


THE END. 


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his most beautiful and characteristic novels. 

For sale by all Booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on re- 
ceipt of price, by 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

Cor. William and Spruce Sts., New York. 


Ottilie Aster’s 
Silence. 

A NOVEL. 


Translated From the German 

By MRS. D. M. LOWREY. 


With Numerous Choice Illustrations By Warren B. Davis. 


Paper Cover, 50 Gents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 


No more charming story of the love-life of a married couple 
was ever portrayed in the pages of a novel. Romance does 
not end with marriage, and it does not require any demon- 
stration to prove it; but if it did, this novel shows how great 
are the elements of romantic interest which exist in the marriage 
relation. There is in it the beauty of family life in a pure 
household, and the mother and daughter exhibit all the beautiful 
traits which endear women to men and make the charm of the 
world. 

For sale by all Booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of 
price, by 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

Corner William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


“The Pall of the Christians 99 in Book Form, 
Under the Title of 


PAOLI, 

The Last of the Missionaries. 


A Picture of the Overthrow of the Christians in 
Japan in the Seventeenth Century. 


By W. G. KITCHIN. 

Superbly Illustrated With Large and Small Engraving's From 
Designs By Gr. A. Traver and Henry Bouche. 12mo. 500 

Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 


This is a stirring romance in an entirely new field. There 
are a freshness and novelty about it which are vastly attractive. 
Japan is not altogether an unknown land, but few are aware 
of the treasures of romance and adventure in its history. It was 
the scene of the missionary labors of the great Catholic, Francis 
Xavier. The overthrow, in the seventeenth century, of the 
Christian converts of the Catholic missionary who had achieved a 
powerful position, is the greatest event in Japanese annals. The 
story introduces all the great historical personages of this epoch, 
and combines the fascination of a novel with the interest of 
historical truth. 


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